


Oumasai Oneshots

by 96percentdone (Nakanaide)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'll add more as they happen, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Shot Collection, Prompt Fill, Rating May Change, Soulmate AU, also, and here's the part where I list the kind of things you'll find here, and that's because I kill Ouma in one of these, and usually I don't kill them, but the major character death tag is scary, each chapter has a summary for the concept, he gets reincarnated anyway so like, it's a bunch of prompt fills and one shots tbh, rating went up cause a body is discovered in one of these, so it's not worth using, talent swap AU, who cares man, you might notice the 'chose not to use archive warnings' tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 28,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakanaide/pseuds/96percentdone
Summary: Just a bunch of oumasai oneshots/prompt fills I'm bringing over from my tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: their first date!
> 
> So I made it a surprise date. Because why not.

Saihara’s not expecting anyone at his door today. All he’s expecting to do today is read through old case files and  _relax._ But the doorbell rings, and someone is here, so reluctantly he gets up and answers. _Maybe it’s just Momota-kun with a question..._ he thinks as he trudges his way over.

“Saihara-chan!--whoa! You’re not ready at all.” The door opens to Ouma’s pouting face and immediately Saihara is reminded he’s just in his pajamas. “I can’t believe you forgot....” Ouma hiccups, tears forming in his eyes.

Saihara sighs and can’t help but crack a tiny smile. _I see we’re doing this again._ His boyfriend’s preferred method of communication would raise far too many questions with anyone else. Still, he plays along. Just for now. “What did I forget?”

“So mean! We were going on our first date today! How could you forget?” Ouma whines, hands in fists and the crocodile tears start falling.

Saihara shakes his head. “Ouma-kun, I thought we agreed on tomorrow.” He’s even got the text logs to prove it, but he knows he doesn’t have to.

“Oh? We did?” There’s an innocent look on Ouma’s face but his eyes give him away. They both know. “I forgot! Sorry! Still, can you really fault me for wanting to see my beloved Saihara-chan?” He’s smiling, hands behind his head.

Saihara doesn’t bother fighting down the blush that creeps on his face. _Why do you insist on calling me that?_ “You know, if you wanted to take me on a surprise date, you could have just said so,” he rightfully points out, but in truth, he doesn’t mind.

Now Ouma’s pouting again, but it’s even more exaggeratedly fake than usual.  “Buzzkill. You see right through me as always. That’s no fun.”

Saihara chuckles and Ouma lights up. “That’s a lie too, isn’t it? Besides, it wouldn’t work if I couldn’t and you know it.” God knows the early years of their friendship was a mess for that reason. Finding the right balance between a truth-seeking detective and an almost compulsive liar was difficult. “Give me a few minutes and then we can do something.”

He’s in the middle of shutting the door when Ouma chimes in. “Aww, you’re not going to let me in? Pity. I’d love the show.” He’s got a mischievous grin on his face.

“Not today.” The door closes with a click. There’s still case files on his desk, but they can wait. Saihara’s got plans today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: how about, ouma visits saihara’s room late at night, angst and comfort?
> 
> This is a canon divergence AU for chapter 4 where instead of immediately defaulting to orchestrate a murder, Ouma tries something else instead.

It’s around three in the morning when Saihara wakes up to a sudden noise. It’s quiet, like the shuffling of keys, but he’s always been a light sleeper, and he especially doesn’t sleep well in this game. He sits up, back painfully straight, watching nothing but the door. Light creeps in from a crack in the door, and a shadow slips in. It’s dark, and he can’t make out who the sudden intruder is, but he doesn’t have to. There’s only one lock picker here.

“Ouma-kun,” Saihara calls out. When the lights turn on, Saihara’s anxiety drops from a 70 to a 40; it’s disadvantageous to kill with light.

“Aww, I was hoping to surprise you, Saihara-chan.” Ouma greets, pushing his messy purple hair away from his face. Saihara notes he’s carrying nothing on him; again, his anxiety drops. “That’s a shame. You’re already awake though. Were you thinking about someone? Akamatsu-chan?”

He’s not awake enough for this. “What do you want?” he asks, rubbing the slight remains of sleep from his eyes.

“Straight to the point, huh?” Ouma says, seating himself on the back of the blue armchair. He leans forward, almost ready to fall off, when he answers. “You could say I’m in some trouble, so I came here for your expert advice, Saihara-chan.”

“On what?” Is he even awake enough to be giving advice right now? He doesn’t think so. Besides, given the boy asking for it he’s not convinced he should.

“How you would prevent your own murder?” Ouma drops the bombshell as casually as he says anything else, and Saihara has never been more awake.

 _Prevent a murder? I-isn’t that far too much responsibility to put on me? I solve crimes not prevent–_ but then he takes a good look in front of him. At Ouma Kokichi, swaying back and forth on the back of a blue armchair, as if he has no cares at all. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

All movement stops. Ouma’s face is blank. Unreadable. The one face Saihara has no idea how to interpret. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me,” Ouma replies, voice flat, and he pushes himself off the chair and heads towards the door. “Well, might as well go with plan B then. Good night, Saihara-chan!” he singsongs, but it’s as flat as everything else.

Saihara expected several reactions. He expected Ouma to whine and tell some extravagant unbelievable lie before giving it up. He expected Ouma to laugh and change his statement. He expected Ouma to go “Yep! That’s a lie.”

_“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”_

He didn’t expect  _this._

Ouma’s about to leave when Saihara finds himself calling out “Wait!” Ouma stops, hand on the doorknob. Several long seconds pass before he finally turns back around, his face still unreadable. “I—” Saihara begins, but doesn’t finish. Ouma doesn’t say anything, only stares back at Saihara. “I should hear you out first. Even if it’s a lie, I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

The silence is borderline excruciating. Eventually, with no change in his expression whatsoever, Ouma asks, “Even a liar like myself?”

“You’re still one of us, regardless.”

Something changes slightly in Ouma’s expression, Saihara thinks it might be surprise, before finally, he laughs. “I didn’t realize you were so easy to trick, Saihara-chan!”  He jumps back onto the armchair and leans over the back with a huge innocent smile.

Saihara almost wants to throw him out. He almost thinks  _am I being toyed with again?_ He almost buys into Ouma’s antics, but he doesn’t. “So what makes you think someone’s planning to kill you?” He asks, and as Ouma explains far too enthusiastically, Saihara reflects.

He doesn’t have a good reason for believing Ouma. The idea that all of this is just another trick gone too far doesn’t seem out of character, but Saihara doesn’t think it is. Instead, he thinks he’s just one step closer to the truth behind the enigmatic liar Ouma Kokichi. He doesn’t know what that truth is, but he’s closer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Something involving a despair disease inflicted Ouma (in which he can't lie to Saihara) would be cool.
> 
> I had fun with this one.

Ouma can’t keep hiding in his room. He hasn’t eaten in over a day and his food stash is out, and he’s  _sick_ with this stupid despair fever Monokuma gave him. _This wouldn’t have been an issue if I was still able to lie,_ he thinks, lying in his messy bed staring at the ceiling. But he’s not. The fever took that away from him. The fever took  _everything_ from him.

A loud growl pierces the silence of the room. He can almost feel his stomach eating itself. He  _needs_ to eat. He really, really needs to eat. If he doesn’t eat, he will  _die,_ and then what was the point?

He glances at the clock. It’s five after nine. The dining hall closes in an hour. _Hmm…_ It’s hard to make calculations when you haven’t seen anyone in days. _More than one of us is sick for this to be an effective motive. Monokuma wouldn’t just bank on me, so I’d assume at least two more of us are sick, and they’re probably being tended to right now._ They’ve tried getting to him too but he’s locked the door and ignored the ringing doorbell. _It’s unlikely anyone is in the dining hall this late under these circumstances._

Another growl and he sighs, dragging himself out of his bed onto unsteady feet. _I have no choice but to take the risk._

It takes far too long to actually get to the dining hall. He spends far too much time leaning on walls in an attempt not to fall. It’s lucky no one was around. Still, the doors are in his sight. _Finally_ , he thinks, collapsing against the door. His hand fails to grab the door handle three times before he manages to get the door open.

When the door opens he finds the table already has food set up for him. It’s…sweets. A lot of sweets. Every sugary substance under the sun, and one lone soup. “I thought you would have to come out at some point,” a voice breaks him out of his stupor. Saihara-chan. _I’ve been caught_.

 _I can’t believe I forgot to do something as simple as factor you in, Saihara-chan. I really am sick._ Ouma wants to play everything off like it’s fine. Like he wasn’t forced to derail all of his plans, or that he’s sick, but god it’s so hard to stand. Not to mention he knows his own outfit hasn’t been on correctly for the past day, and he’s forgotten what a hairbrush was, and there’s definitely bags under his eyes from a lack of sleep. There’s no faking his way out of this, but he’s determined to try.

Ouma’s legs give out beneath him as soon as he gets to the chair, and it takes everything to not just rest his head in the bowl of soup and sleep. “Saihara-chan, you set up a feast for me? I didn’t think you cared that much~” It sounds fake and exhausted even to himself, but he’s desperate. _Take the bait._

Saihara-chan’s eyes widen, and Ouma thinks he might spot concern, before they settle right back into a determined gaze. “You’re not going to be able to distract me, Ouma-kun,” he says. _Worth a shot._ “You should eat. I can tell you haven’t.”

He _should._ He’s _starving,_ but sticking around even for the food he needs is also a risk, even if it’s one he has to take. Not to mention his legs seem to have completely given up for the time being. Slowly, he grabs a spoon, and starts picking at the food before him, gradually picking up speed the more he eats. The dining hall is quiet except for the sound of silverware clinking against bowls.

He’s about to wolf down this frankly _stunning_ looking piece of chocolate cake when Saihara-chan speaks again. “I think I’ve figured it out.” Ouma almost drops his fork back on the table.

 _I doubt it,_ but he’s not going to say that out loud. Instead, he’s going to play dumb. Just because he can’t lie, doesn’t mean he can’t act. “Figured what out? One of Yumeno-chan’s magic tricks? I–”

“Why you’ve locked yourself in your room,” Saihara-chan cuts him off without a hint of doubt. “I’ve figured you out,” he repeats, arms folded. He hasn’t turned away from Ouma once.

“Oh?” Ouma is unconsciously tapping his fork against the table, but he’s at a loss for words. There’s no evasive remark, no teasing comment, nothing. Time slows down as his heart rate speeds up.

“I’ve done some thinking. You’ve been locked in your room since the day the motive was introduced. Momota-kun did something similar. His despair fever manifested in the form of extreme paranoia, but that can’t be you. You’ve made it clear from the start you aren’t trusting.”

Every one of Saihara-chan’s words is stabbing through the walls in Ouma’s mind. He’s squeezing the fork so tightly it could break.

Saihara-chan continues without care, confidence and determination growing in his voice. “I haven’t seen you, but I have seen Momota-kun and Chabashira-san. I know how the fever affected them. It turned them into their opposite; the person they’d least like to be. And you locked yourself in your room because you have it, meaning however this fever affected you, you didn’t want us to know. Your absence is as loud as your presence. I can only assume your fever is somehow inconvenient for you.”

 _Stop._ The metal edges of the fork are almost stabbing into his skin. His heart is pounding in his ears. It’s so so _loud_ but Saihara-chan’s voice is louder. Saihara-chan hasn’t broken eye contact once, and Ouma desperately wishes he could.

“There’s only one thing I can think of that would throw you off this much. Something that thoroughly defines you.” _Stop!_ “Ouma-kun,” a pause.

Ouma’s heart pounds. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“You can’t lie, can you?” Saihara-chan asks, and the question pierces through all the static and panic building in Ouma’s mind.

Something shatters. “Heh.” Ouma’s snort turns into a chuckle, then into an empty laugh. Saihara-chan leans back, startled, as if this isn’t what he was expecting, and the empty laugh fills the dining hall. “You really are quite the detective, Saihara-chan.”

“So, I was right?” Saihara-chan asks, visibly relaxing back into his seat. His brows are furrowed in concern.

“Yep! You got me. I can’t lie.” It’s just as fake and empty as before. “Still,” Ouma starts, propping his head up on his arm. “just because I’m forced to tell the truth, doesn’t mean it means anything.”

“No, it has to.” Saihara-chan shakes his head. “Your lies have to have a much larger purpose if not being able to tell them forced you into hiding. You don’t just lie for no reason. You want to accomplish something.”

“And what would that be?” Ouma asks, too tired to regret it. He’s given up.

“I don’t know.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t figure that much out from here. I was hoping you would tell me,” Saihara-chan offers weakly, but the confidence in his pose hasn’t faded.

“And why would I do that?” Annoyance seeps into Ouma’s voice.

“Because now that I know lying is central to your plan, it’ll be a lot harder for you to pull off without me figuring it out. And I will figure it out,” Saihara-chan asserts, and Ouma can’t look him in the eyes anymore.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“What?”

“I said, I don’t want to tell you!” Ouma bursts, with clenched fists while glaring at the floor. He’s just being stubborn. He knows this. He’s cornered. Saihara-chan’s put him in check and he doesn’t see himself finding a way out. He can only prolong checkmate but he doesn’t want to let go. He can’t. He’s been working towards this for so long—he has to do this to save everyone! He has to! _I have to ruin this killing game!_ It’s the only way he can.

A tentative hand rests on his shoulder. Ouma didn’t notice he was shaking until now. “Ouma-kun.” He unwittingly looks up at his name to Saihara-chan’s concerned golden eyes.

“You’re really determined to make me tell you, huh?” Ouma’s voice quivers. He hates that he couldn’t stop himself. He hates that he’s still shaking. He hates how obvious he is right now. His mask is utterly gone.

“I don’t want to make you do anything.” Saihara-chan smiles weakly, looking away. “I’m not really good at confronting people, like Momota-kun is. It’s a lot easier for me to just solve the mystery than it is to talk to people, but….I don’t know. I don’t want to figure this out just from doubting you. I’d like it if you trusted me.”

_‘I’d like it if you trusted me.’_

_‘Trusted me’_

_‘Trust’_

“….I wanted you to hate me.” Ouma mutters. It’s barely audible, but Saihara-chan seems to understand because his eyes widen in shock. “My whole plan was to be as untrustworthy as possible so all of you would hate me. Once I put together the truth of this school I would present myself as the ringleader. The role of the villain is perfect for me, and since none of you would trust me, you’d believe it.” He aimlessly stabs into the chocolate cake over and over as he explains.

“Why?”

The cake is transforming into a crumby chocolate mess. So much for eating it. “I thought by doing so I could forcibly end the killing game. Usurp power from the ringleader, unite all of you against a common enemy, get rid of all incentive to kill…something like that.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Saihara-chan. He knows that trusting people is a huge risk. Maybe Saihara-chan is the ringleader, and he’s just stepped into a huge trap. Ouma’s logical mind is _screaming_ at him that this is a mistake. A _huge_ mistake.

But he’s so _tired._ Maybe it’s just because he’s sick with the despair fever, or maybe because he’s still feeling weak from a lack of food, or maybe it’s because of the way Saihara-chan is looking at him. Maybe it’s all three, but he doesn’t want to fight himself anymore. He’s tired of worrying about risks and ringleaders and betrayals—he’s tired of being alone.

“You want…to end this killing game?” Saihara-chan asks like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “But, why take it on by yourself? Why not work together with—”

“You saw what happened to Akamatsu-chan after she united everyone. The ringleader took immediate action.” Ouma sighs. “Besides, one of you is the ringleader. I couldn’t risk the ringleader interfering. Even you might be the ringleader, Saihara-chan, although I doubt it. You’re hard to predict but that almost makes you reliable.” Endearing, he doesn’t say.

Saihara-chan doesn’t respond, finger pressed to his lips with a thoughtful expression. Ouma can see him put the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind. Watching the dots connect.

“I have to ruin this killing game. I’d do anything to accomplish that—even die. Although,” Ouma laughs, and he can taste the bitterness on his tongue. “I suppose I can’t do anything now.”

“We’ll think of something else,” Saihara-chan declares, and Ouma is dumbstruck by how confident Saihara-chan is in his words. “Maybe not all of us together, because you’re right. We can’t trust everyone but…I have to believe something can still be done. You won’t have to do this alone.”

“Saihara-chan—”

“I… Thank you. For trusting me with this.” Saihara-chan smiles, slight and soft and sweet. “I’m really glad I didn’t have to force this out of you.”

“I’m surprised you believed me so easily. I could have lied about having the honesty fever, you know.” Ouma responds, and maybe on another day it would sound much more flippant, but he’s exhausted.

“You could be, but we’ve gotten this far. And I don’t think any of how you reacted was fake. Besides, I chose to believe you because…that’s what I want to believe.” _Momota-chan clearly rubbed off on you._ Saihara-chan may seem meek and insecure, but right now he’s never been brighter. _I wonder how he can’t see it himself?_ “I’m really glad you decided to trust me.”

Trust. He…trusts Saihara-chan, despite all the risk. He should be more upset that all he’s worked towards has been so easily thrown into the trash, but he’s not. He should be scared, or desperately attempting to backpedal, but he’s not. He’s not anything at all but in awe. In awe of Saihara-chan, and the hand he’s reaching out towards him.

There’s a fragile bridge built between he and Saihara-chan. It’s so thin it could snap. One wrong move at it would shatter into pieces, but—it’s there. It’s _there._ He’s not isolated anymore. Something warm flutters in his chest.

He should be surprised with himself for taking that hand. He should be surprised, and scared, and upset, and apathetic, and anything but happy, but he’s not. Saihara-chan’s hand is warm and Ouma is…glad.

“Me too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: trying to have a nice wintery date without any nonsense, maybe with some cocoa and sweaters and making a snowman.
> 
> Two boys get up to shenanigans during the winter. It's fun.

_It’s cold._ Saihara is bundled from head to toe in hats and coats and sweaters as they stroll across campus grounds, and it’s still  _so_ cold. He can’t stop himself from rubbing his arms in a desperate attempt to keep the cold from seeping into his bones. _Why did I agree to this?_

To his right Ouma laughs, casually strolling through the 10-degree weather without so much as a coat. “I forgot! Saihara-chan has no cold tolerance,” he says, arms behind his head glancing at Saihara with a cheeky grin.

 _No you didn’t,_ Saihara thinks, but he doesn’t say it, just shakes his head in response, and turns back ahead. The walk resumes in peaceful silence. There are not many people out and about on this frigid Saturday evening. Most people choosing to stay indoors. Snow is gently falling from the sky and piling up on the ground. It’s serene and beautiful. _If only it wasn’t so cold._

Saihara is too distracted by the snow, he doesn’t realize Ouma has stopped walking, instead packing snow within his hands into a compact ball. “Ouma-kun?”

Ouma yanks Saihara behind a nearby bush with him, snowball in hand. It takes everything for Saihara to not completely fall into the snow. He’s even colder now. “That’s Kiiboy over there, isn’t it?” Ouma snickers, pointing further down the path with his other hand.

Saihara glances where Ouma is pointing, to find it is indeed Kiibo, bundled up to hell and back hiding under an umbrella. He immediately notices how carefully Kiibo is walking to avoid any snow that might be on the path. Ouma is taking aim with the snowball like he’s about to throw it. “Don’t. He’ll short circuit, judging from how intently he’s avoiding the snow, and I’m pretty sure you already know that.”

“You’re right! I do.” And before Saihara gets the chance to process this statement, Ouma takes the huge snowball and dumps it right down his back.

 _Cold!_ He can’t feel anything else except the snow sliding down his shirt against his back—Saihara shivers. “Ouma-kun!” he yells.

By now Ouma’s dashed away further into the snow-covered yard. “Nishishi, got you~” He giggles, grabbing more snow in gloveless hands, ready to make another snowball.

Saihara shakes the snow out of his shirt, desperate to shake off just a little bit of the freezing sensation traveling through his body, before standing up. He’s still shivering as he walks up to his gleeful boyfriend.

Ouma snickers into his fist. “I can’t believe you took the bait so easily! You’re not normally this—” but he gets cut off as Saihara grabs a pile of snow and hurls it at Ouma’s face. _Two can play at this game._ Ouma blinks, startled, before bursting into another huge grin. “Oh, it’s on now.”

Saihara can’t help but grin in return, another snowball at the ready.

 

They don’t make it back to the dorms until a half hour later, thoroughly drenched in snow. Saihara’s pretty sure he’s going to regret it tomorrow, but right now covered in warm blankets sipping hot chocolate next to his boyfriend, he’s pretty content.

“Man, I can’t believe you would push me into a giant snow mound. You’re such a bully, Saihara-chan!” Ouma nudges Saihara as he takes a sip of his own hot chocolate.

“If by that you mean you pushing me into a giant snow mound, and me taking you with me, then yes,” Saihara replies, letting the warmth of the mug seep through his frozen fingers.

“Was that how it happened? I forgot.” Ouma yawns, reaching for the nearby desk and putting his empty mug down.

“No, you didn’t.” Saihara’s in the middle of taking another sip when he feels a weight rest on his shoulder.

“Mm, well either way. As payback you’re going to be my pillow, so don’t move.” Ouma says, curled up against Saihara’s shoulder with his eyes closed, wisps of messy purple hair lightly brushing against Saihara’s face.

 _He looks so at peace._ Saihara shakes his head, a fond smile on his face, finishing the last of his hot chocolate. He moves to put it down next to Ouma’s, in the process jostling his half-asleep boyfriend.

“Saihara-chan! I said don’t move!” Ouma whines nuzzled up against his arm.

“Sorry, sorry.” Saihara chuckles, pressing a light kiss to the top of Ouma’s head. “I’ll be sure not to move again,” he says, as Ouma settles right back into position under the blankets. It’s cozy and comfortable just like this. Saihara finds himself yawning, and without even thinking about it rests his head on top of Ouma’s. _It’s warm._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: the SHSL Gambler Ouma Kokichi plays a game with detective Saihara

“Saihara-chan!”

Saihara looks up from his desk to find the SHSL Gambler bounding over waving enthusiastically. Ouma slaps a deck of cards on the desk. “Let’s play a game!”

“A game?” Saihara puts his pen down. Honestly playing a game with the SHSL Gambler seems like it would be a waste of time. _Especially a card game…_ “Why would you want to play a game with me?”

“Caaauuuuuse…..I’m bored, and you’re decently not boring?” Ouma says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He doesn’t bother waiting for Saihara to accept, immediately pulling up a chair. “So we’re going to play a game.”

“You just do whatever you please, huh?” Saihara asks, watching Ouma shuffle the deck of cards.

“Yep! Besides, I know you weren’t that interested in studying anyway, so you might as well,” Ouma says, switching from shuffling the cards to randomly laying them out on the table face down.

Saihara sighs, putting his work away, before asking, “So what game did you want to play? Poker?” _He is a gambler after all._

“Nah, Poker is boring. Everyone is so easy to read. Besides, you clearly have no poker face, so it’d be even _more_ boring.” Ouma replies, putting the deck back together. _What is he doing?_ “So instead, I’ll let you take your pick.” He cheers, handing the deck over.

“Hmm….” Saihara examines the deck in his hand before shuffling it himself. _You can never be too careful._

“Ahaha! Saihara-chan doesn’t trust me.” Ouma rests his head in his hands. “I didn’t get my title from cheating, you know? I can’t even count cards~”

 _That sounds like a lie, but okay,_ Saihara thinks, dealing out the entire deck. “We’ll play spit.”

“Spit?” Ouma raises his brow. “Would have thought you’d go for something more strategy based, like Gin,” he says, straightening out his cards on the table. “You’re just full of surprises.”

There’s something soft in his voice as he says it. It lacks the childish lilt he’s so used to hearing. Saihara’s so thrown off by the change he briefly stops setting up his own cards. “…My uncle used to play it with me,” Saihara replies, resuming his organizing. “You finished?”

“Yep!” Ouma stops fidgeting with his cards. “Let’s go. Although you should be warned, I have lightning reflexes. Nishishi~”

Saihara almost rolls his eyes, an unwitting smile on his face.

“Three, two, one–spit!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: What about Ouma and Saihara trying to hide their relationship from their classmates?
> 
> This is a sequel to that despair fever one shot in chapter 3, just for context.

“If there’s no victim, there’s no game!” Ouma-kun shouts that morning in the dining hall, a wicked grin spread across his face. Everyone in the dining hall is astonished—everyone except Saihara.

It turns out getting Ouma-kun to entirely drop his plan was more impossible than Saihara originally thought. Even without the fever, Ouma-kun insisted it’s too late to change course for his facade, so they have to work around it. They spent all that night in Ouma-kun’s room attempting to come up with a plan before Ouma-kun decided:

_“Well, what if I stick to my plan, but you and I investigate together in secret? The investigation might be a lot more successful if we work together. And I make a good distraction, don’t I?” Ouma-kun wears a playful grin, and Saihara only just realizes how much he missed seeing it._

Saihara reluctantly accepted, and in the days since that night, the two of them have spent a lot more time together. Nights spent exploring the school with Ouma-kun practically dragging Saihara around by the wrist, or sitting next to each other discussing Ouma-kun’s increasingly chaotic whiteboard of notes. He’s not sure what he’d call it, but there’s something comforting about the contemplative but mischievous supreme leader.

But it’s still so jarring to see Ouma-kun’s act during the day. He’s loud and cruel and almost demonic. Like he cares about nothing except other people’s despair. Saihara can’t help but wonder where he can pull this façade from.

“Someone, hurry up and start the next killing! Because if not… I'll go ahead and kill someone!” Ouma-kun declares, challenging the room with open arms. _I really wish you wouldn’t do that,_ Saihara thinks, but Ouma-kun has committed to the bit and Saihara can’t stop him.

It’s not surprising when Momota-kun punches him, but Saihara can’t keep himself from wincing even if everyone else gasps. Ouma-kun stumbles but doesn’t fall over. Saihara wants to do something about the welt blossoming on Ouma’s cheek, but he can’t. All he can do is watch as Momota-kun shouts and scolds, unable to act on all of his concern.

Finally, Momota-kun relents. “Ouma, I really hope for your sake, you’re just putting on a performance.” Ouma-kun says absolutely nothing, just letting the despair shadow over his eyes speak for him. Saihara wishes he could tell Momota-kun just how  _right_ he was. He wishes he could do anything to stop this. But he can’t—he’s powerless.

He can’t bring himself to say anything when Gonta-kun decides to fight Monokuma. In fact, he just kind of tunes out the entire tense conversation going on around him, eyes trained solely on Ouma-kun. Ouma-kun hasn’t moved or changed expression since he got punched. Saihara’s desperate to ask what’s wrong—why hasn’t he rebounded like normal? Or left? Or done something—anything! He’s desperate to be able to do something, but he can’t.

With tension still thick in the air, everyone slowly disperses, and only three of them are left. “Shuuichi?” Momota-kun asks, walking over to Saihara and his unfinished meal. “You doin’ alright? You haven’t said anything in awhile.”

The obvious answer is _‘No, I’m really concerned about Ouma-kun because we’re secretly working together and you just punched him and he’s behaving strangely now and I can’t do anything because you’re still here,’_ but he can’t say that. Besides, it’s not fair to snap at Momota-kun for this—he’s just concerned after all. They’re friends. “Ah, no, I’m just thinking.” Saihara’s smile is as weak as his technical truth.

“About him?” Momota-kun gestures towards Ouma-kun, brow furrowed. “Can’t blame you. I don’t get what’s up with him either.” Saihara almost wants to laugh at that, but instead just nods along. “But,” Momota-kun sighs, holding the back of his head, “thinkin’ too long and hard about whatever he’s up to is probably just gonna stress you out more. Don’t overdo it, alright? I can’t have my sidekick overworking himself.”

“Yeah, I know. Thank you, Momota-kun.” Saihara smiles, but this time it’s less forced. Maybe one day he’ll be able to tell him the truth.

Momota-kun’s grin is as bright as always. “I’ll see ya later, Shuuichi,” he says, giving Saihara one final pat on the back before leaving. The door closes with a click.

“Fiiiiiinally, I thought he’d never leave!” Saihara turns back around to find Ouma-kun smiling widely like nothing is wrong. He can’t help but stare dumbstruck at Ouma-kun’s sudden switch in attitude. “Ow, nope! The muscles in my cheek did _not_ like that…” He frowns, rubbing at the red welt on his face.

Saihara shakes his head. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” he says, before leaving to grab an ice pack from the kitchen. When he comes back Ouma-kun hasn’t moved, still rubbing at his bruised face. “Here,” he says, gently holding the ice-pack against Ouma-kun’s cheek.

Ouma-kun blinks, mouth slightly agape. Saihara can’t decipher what Ouma-kun mouths to himself, but it’s impossible to miss the gentle smile that comes after. “I didn’t think Saihara-chan was so eager to take care of me.” There’s a teasing lilt in Ouma-kun’s voice, but it’s soft, like his gaze.

“Ah! Um,” Saihara can’t stop the heat building up in his cheeks, “I mean, you can do it yourself if you want!” He stammers, offering the ice pack to the purple haired boy, unable to make eye contact.

“Hmm…” Ouma-kun frowns as if seriously pondering whether to take the ice pack or not. “I think I like it better when you take care of me~”

Saihara can’t help but roll his eyes but goes back to tending to Ouma-kun’s face anyway. “Is that a lie?”

“You tell me,” Ouma-kun says, but there’s something almost blissful in his expression.

_“Nishishi~!” Ouma-kun giggles with a joyful smile, as if Saihara bandaging his cut hand is all he wanted._

_Ah._ Saihara doesn’t respond but knows his silence speaks for him. Ouma-kun’s gaze is contemplative but the soft smile from earlier remains. It’s quiet, but it’s comfortable. Saihara knows they’ll have to leave soon, especially if they don’t want to get caught, but right now…he’s content to stay like this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has fan art someone kindly drew for it which I'll link [here](http://96percentdone.tumblr.com/post/168198598321/33-oumasai-for-the-writing-prompt-ask-meme)!

“Saaaaaiiiihara-chan!” Poke.

No response.

Another poke.

Nothing.

Poke poke poke.  

Saihara ignores the poking without so much as looking up, continuing to read the case file open on the desk. He turns the page and furrows his brow at the words before him.

 _Well, that’s no fun_. Ouma won’t stand to be ignored like this. _Time to up my game_ , he thinks, rapid-fire poking the same spot of Saihara’s arm. Again and again and again and again, but Saihara still stubbornly powers through his case files. He’s about to yawn from boredom when Saihara finally looks up.  “Could you please stop?”

“Hmmm…nope!” Ouma answers, sitting right on Saihara’s desk, still poking his arm. “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.”

Saihara sighs, turning the page again. “I did tell you I was planning on doing work today, but you chose to hang out with me anyway.”

“I knooowww, but it’s been like four hours! You should take a break.” Ouma whines, lying down on the desk right on top of the file before Saihara could do anything. It’s difficult to balance, and the blood is rushing to his head a little, but it’s doable.

“That’s a lie, isn’t it?” Saihara asks, standing up and examining the desk trying to find some way to retrieve the files.

“Okaayyy, it’s been two hours. Same thing honestly, can you blame me?” Ouma’s in the middle of waving his hand dismissively when Saihara yanks the file out from beneath him. The sudden movement throws off his balance, and he almost crashes to the floor but manages to catch himself just in time. He doesn’t miss Saihara’s smirk at watching him flounder. “Wow, you’re mean! I could have really hurt myself like that.” He pouts as if he was actually offended.

“You’re fine,” Saihara shakes his head, an amused smile on his face. “Let me finish reading this file and then we’ll do something, okay?”

“Okay~”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I don’t want to think about what I’d be like without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another despair fever verse one shot, yay! Honestly, let me know if you think I should just move them to their own fic. I didn't think I was gonna keep writing these, except I am.

It’s the middle of the night when they finally make it back to Ouma-kun’s messy room. Ouma-kun crashes on his bed after closing the door. “Who knew permanently crashing a computer would take soooo much effort?” he yawns, face pressed up against the mattress. “Sleepy…”

Saihara ignores him, instead analyzing the chaotic whiteboard. _I think we can probably take Iruma-san off the list_ , he thinks, moving her portrait off further to the side. After all, why would she plan a murder if she was the ringleader? “This is fine, right?”

“mmh?” Ouma-kun responds, muffled by the mattress before turning his head to face Saihara. “Yeah, that’s fine…”

Saihara nods in acknowledgment, still staring at the board. Portraits are paired off together with doodles for every murder. Just think, there could have been another _one._ He’s glad they avoided that, but something still bothers him.

Saihara turns to face the half-asleep supreme leader on the bed. They were able to thwart this together because of their alliance. They prevented a murder, but…what if they weren’t? Maybe he’s not that awake himself if he’s thinking about hypotheticals, but it won’t leave his head. “Say, Ouma-kun…how would you have handled this by yourself? I mean, if we weren’t working together.”

“I don’t know.” Ouma-kun rolls over and stretches. “Might have planned a murder,” he says, expressionless, before yawning out, “Who knows. Haven’t really thought about it.” _That’s a lie_ , Saihara thinks, _you’ve clearly thought about it_. Ouma-kun curls up on his side. “I don’t want to think about what I’d be like without you, Saihara-chan.” It’s so quiet; it’s almost a whisper.

 _A murder…_ They’ve just avoided one; he’d rather not entertain the idea his partner would plan his own crime. An Ouma-kun so isolated and suspicious that he’d stoop to murder–Saihara shakes his head. “Me neither.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You’re so cute when you pout like that.”

“Can you believe he tried to con me out of the prize?” Ouma grumbles mostly to himself as he and Saihara walk away from the festival booth. The pout on his face is mostly for exaggerated effect; he really doesn’t care about the cheap stuffed bear in his hand, just the proof that he won. “ Rude. How dare he underestimate me, the Super High School Level Supreme Leader like that?”

To his right, Saihara chuckles, carrying the eight other prizes Ouma won so far. “You’re so cute when you pout like that.”

 _Huh?_ Ouma stops, desperately trying to beat back the blush that wants to creep on his face. _Did he just–_ it’s a losing battle; his face is already warm. He couldn’t predict that.

It takes Saihara a few seconds to realize he apparently said that out loud, because in a matter of seconds he’s stuttering, “I um, I mean–Ouma-kun?” He pauses and turns around.

 _Quick, now’s my chance!_ “Aww, you think I’m cute, Saihara-chan?” Ouma resumes walking, quickly catching up to Saihara. “Should that be something a detective thinks about an evil supreme leader? We should be enemies, you know.” He teases, hoping the huge shit eating grin on his face can cover for his heart still fluttering in his chest.

“I, um, well–” Saihara stammers, cheeks pink, unable to look Ouma in the eyes, before sighing. “You can be. Cute, I mean. Sometimes.”

“I can be? Oh, but it’s all just a lie, remember? I wouldn’t actually be bothered by that guy. You just took the bait~”

Saihara’s face flushes. Ouma’s about to celebrate his successful turnaround with even more teasing when Saihara mumbles. “But, your face a few seconds ago was cute too…”

And all the blood rushes to his face again. _Stop doing that!!_ His heart won’t stop pounding–he can’t handle this. _It’s fine. Just–it’s fine. You’ve got this under control._

“I rest my case,” Saihara smirks. _Did I just get played?_ “You definitely can be cute.”

 _I’m gonna die_ , he thinks, hiding behind the cheap stuffed bear in his arms.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “What’s with the box?”

When Kokichi comes into their apartment that afternoon with a gift-wrapped box that’s too big for him to carry in his arms, Shuuichi doesn’t have as many questions as you would expect. At this point after years of dating, he’s used to whatever weird irrelevant nonsense his boyfriend brings home. Still, Shuuichi asks,  “What’s with the box?”

“It’s a gift, obviously! I even wrapped it and everything for you, Shuuichi-chan.” Kokichi drops the box directly on Shuuichi’s lap. It doesn’t fit, half dangling off the edge. “Open it!”

Shuuichi raises an eyebrow, before examining the box. He’s used to being gifted nonsense by Kokichi, but it’s odd for him to go all out with it. _Plus, it’s huge…_

“Oh come on! What do you think is going to be in there, the skeletal remains of your father? Open it!”

“Yeah, okay.” Shuuichi relents, tentatively tearing off the pink wrapping paper of the box. Inside the gift box is…a beat-up cardboard box. _Really?_ Shuuichi looks up at Kokichi only to find Kokichi grinning back at him. “Open it!”

Closer inspection of the box reveals this box was something Shuuichi ordered a few days ago and already opened. “Kokichi, what–”

“Just open it! It’ll make sense, I promise!” Kokichi still hasn’t sat down, running his hand through neatly combed purple hair, and  _wait, why is he dressed that neatly?_ Shuuichi’s heart is racing in his chest– _don’t get ahead of yourself._

Inside the box is…another smaller cardboard box. Followed by another smaller box. And another. And another. With every smaller box, his hands move faster like his heart beats quicker, practically throwing the other boxes aside. It’s an endless stream of smaller boxes. Smaller and smaller and smaller, until finally–Shuuichi stops.

There, inside the last tiny Chinese food takeout container, is a small, black, velvet box. Pale hands gently take the box from his lap. Shuuichi looks up in wide-eyed awe to find Kokichi kneeling before him, more serious than Shuuichi’s ever seen him.

“Shuuichi,” Kokichi says his name so softly it’s a miracle he can hear it so clearly over the beating in his ears. “I’ve been thinking about how to approach this for a while. Nothing I thought of, no matter how grand or over the top a gesture, it didn’t seem like it was good enough for you. But then I remembered, you love all the ridiculous and unnecessary things I do, so I thought….we’ll do it my way.” Kokichi chuckles, and Shuuichi can’t keep the breathy giggle in his throat as tears form in his eyes.

“There is no one in this world who is as interesting, or as intelligent, or as wonderful as you, and that’s the truth. With you at my side, taking over the world wouldn’t be a dream, so…” Kokichi presents the opened black velvet box with a tender smile; the silver ring gleams brightly, even in the well-lit room. “Saihara Shuuichi, will you marry me?”

Shuuichi doesn’t answer in words, instead yanking Kokichi up from the floor by his collar and crushing their lips together. Within seconds Kokichi melts into the kiss, and the rush of passion dissolves into something sweet. A kiss filled with awe and joy and  _love_. Time feels as though it’s stopped by the time they pull apart. Kokichi’s eyes sparkle and Shuuichi breathes:

_“Yes.”_

* * *

 

“You know, you’re cleaning all this up later.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay~”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I had a nightmare about you and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
> 
> More despair fever verse because. I cannot be stopped.

“Will you pick the right choice? Or the dreadfully wrong one?”

_No._

“Now, it’s voting time!”

_No no no!_

The victory jingle plays as the roulette stops on Saihara-chan. Monokuma laughs. “You’re correct yet again! The blackened for this case is Saihara Shuuichi-kun!”

 _No! He’s not!_ **_He’s not!! DON’T–_ **

“Now then, let’s give it everything we’ve got! It’s punishment time!”

_Wait!_

The chain descends from the ceiling cuffing terrified, petrified, and confused Saihara-chan around the neck.

**_Wait!_ **

It drags him up in the air and nobody has time to scream or cry or react–

**_STOP!!!_ **

Ouma wakes up enveloped in blankets and darkness and sweat. _A dream…_ Of course it was a dream. It was too incoherent and rushed to be real. There’s absolutely no way that could have happened. Saihara-chan is fine.

He rolls back over on his side and closes his eyes, but sleep doesn’t retake him. It’s too late, his brain is already awake and active. _He hasn’t been executed. There hasn’t even been a murder. Go to bed. Saihara-chan is_ ** _fine._ **

But the little voice in his brain won’t shut up. It all felt too real, even if it was so clearly fake. Saihara-chan might not have been executed, but he could be. The ringleader could be setting him up for murder right now–scratch that. They could just kill him. They could kill him right now and set Ouma up for it. It’d be so easy with all their resources; they’d be powerless– _Shut up!_ Ouma internally groans, slamming his head on the pillow for emphasis. _Just sleep._

And yet he still finds himself picking the lock to Saihara-chan’s room, not even five minutes later. The needles feel almost slippery in his hands, _why is this taking so long?_ _You’ve done this before! Come on!_ A click and the door unlocks.

Ouma slips into the dark room, carefully shutting the door behind him so only a crack of light remains. He doesn’t plan on staying long. Just long enough to make sure Saihara-chan is alright. Once he verifies Saihara-chan is in here asleep, he’ll leave, and then he’ll sleep himself without his stupid brain over–

“Ouma-kun?”

 _Fuck._ The door shuts behind him. “Saihara-chan!” Ouma greets, flipping the lights on. He can at least pretend to have come here with a purpose.

“Why…are you…” Saihara-chan slowly sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. _He’s adorable._ “Why are you here…? It’s late.” He asks, sleep still coating his voice.

“Maybe I’m here to kill you!” Ouma snickers, strolling away from the doorway into the room. Lies roll so easily off his tongue. “It’d be so easy to betray you, you know.”

“You don’t have a weapon, and even if you were out to strangle me, I doubt we’d be talking about it so casually.” Saihara half yawns. _Still quick-witted, even when half asleep._

“That’s true!” Ouma flops on the blue armchair. “Okaaay, I’m not here to kill you. Actually, the truth is I’ve realized something important.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?” Saihara-chan asks, eyebrow raised.

“Nope~!” Ouma yawns, and his ‘I’m totally awake I promise’ facade comes crumbling down. _It’s fine. You can still pass this off as just yawns being contagious._ “Besides, it’s technically four in the morning right now, sooo…”

“Why are you really here?” To the point as always.

“Didn’t I just tell you?” Ouma places a finger against his cheek; a practiced expression. “I have something urgent to tell you.”

“No, you don’t. You weren’t up thinking.” Saihara-chan pushes himself forward and seats himself at the edge of the bed. “You’re paler than usual and sweaty, and with bags under your eyes, so you most likely were asleep but didn’t sleep well, but I don’t know why that brings you here.”

“Aww, it’s four in the morning! Couldn’t you just give it a rest with the detective work?” Ouma whines. Saihara-chan’s glare says ‘you woke me up so deal with it’ for him. Ouma heaves a sigh. “Alright fine. It’s nothing urgent. I just wanted to see you.”

“At four in the morning?”

“Am I not allowed to want to visit my beloved Saihara-chan?”

Saihara-chan’s cheeks turn pink, but he quickly turns back into the cool-headed detective. “You wouldn’t randomly come visit me; everything you do has a purpose.” _You know me too well._ “You really don’t have to keep lying to me.” His words are softer now. “I know lying is, well…your thing, but you don’t need to keep it up around me all the time. It’s okay.”

 _Oh,_ and Ouma can’t help but remember that fateful encounter in the dining hall. “Heh. You’re really something…” Ouma half breathes, half mutters. It’s amazing how Saihara-chan manages to say the exact words to break past Ouma’s defenses. “Well, if you really want to know…” Ouma leans back in the chair, carefully putting together the words in his mind. “I had a nightmare about you and…” the words are rough and quiet coming from his mouth. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” It’s so hard for him to be honest.

Saihara-chan’s expression shifts into one of realization, As if all the pieces of the puzzle just clicked together. Pink still dusts his cheeks. “I see….” He inches closer to Ouma, fiddling with his hands. “Well, I’m alright. Nothing’s happened to me.”

 _For now._ Ouma knows it’s meant to be reassuring, but the anxieties that plagued him before bubble right back up in his chest. Sure, Saihara-chan is here right now, he’s alive right now, but who knows when that will change? This is a killing game, and it’d be so easy for the ringleader to figure them out! _You’re safe right now, but–_

“What do you think is going to happen to me?” Saihara-chan’s words are cutting, and only then is Ouma aware he said that out loud.

“Anything. This is a killing game after all. Even ignoring that any one of our classmates could strike at any time, you and I just foiled a murder attempt.” The words are tumbling out of his mouth faster than he can think them, never mind stop them. “We’ve directly interfered with the ringleader’s intentions for the game. They’re not going to like that; they’ll want us out of the way. They could kill you, or better yet, frame you for murder and have you executed!” He’s gripping the chair so tightly his knuckles turn white.

Saihara-chan waits patiently for him to finish, with concerned, contemplative eyes.

“I don’t care what they do to me. I’m prepared for it. I’m willing to die if it means ending this killing game. But I can’t–” Ouma lets out a shaky breath. “I can’t have you die on my account.” _I can’t lose you._ He wishes his shoulders would stop trembling.

“Nothing is going to happen to me.” Saihara-chan asserts, with the confidence he reserves for his deductions. His gaze pierces directly into Ouma’s soul. “I was well aware of what I agreed to when I made my alliance with you. I know all the risks of actively working against the ringleader. But I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think that I–that we could handle it.” He tentatively reaches out and places his hand over one of Ouma’s tense ones. “If they do anything, we’ll take care of it.”

He doesn’t have a response to that. He’s not sure where Saihara-chan’s unwavering faith comes from–there’s always so much that can go wrong at any time. It’s something he’s never allowed to forget. Even right now underneath their noses the ringleader could be watching them and plotting, and they’d be none the wiser. There’s no way to guarantee their safety, that they’ll be fine, but if Saihara-chan so firmly believes it, maybe he can try to.

“Okay,” he whispers, and Saihara-chan smiles. The slightest amount of his doubt melts.

“Well!” Ouma jumps up from the armchair and stretches, ignoring Saihara-chan’s startled look. “This has been fun,” _if by fun I mean emotionally taxing,_ “but I really should go and get some sleep now! I’ll need all the rest I can get before I deal with an angry Iruma-chan tomorrow, so good night Saihara-chan~” he says, skipping towards the door as if he didn’t just unload all his fears at once three seconds ago.

“One more thing before you go,” Saihara-chan says, and Ouma pauses, hand on the door. “You might not care about what happens to you, but I do. We’re partners after all, right?”

He didn’t turn around, so he has no idea what face Saihara-chan is making, but he imagines it’s as gentle as his voice was. His heart beats loudly in his chest.

“Yeah.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “If you go anywhere near them, you’ll have to deal with me!”
> 
> Movie night! because who am I if not constantly prompt-bending.

“If you go anywhere near her, you’ll have to deal with me!” the man on the screen yells, defiant at a group of bullies, protecting his girlfriend with one arm.

“Awww…” Ouma yawns into a pillow to Saihara’s left on the couch. “This soooo boring. That’s such a cliche line! Should have said literally _anything else_ but that!”

“Weren’t _you_ the one who picked this movie?” Saihara asks, taking the bowl of popcorn from the table. Honestly, he hasn’t really been paying attention.

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it was going to be this  _trite._ Look, now they’re running scared at his display of determination.” Ouma groans and flops on his side. “Is anything about this movie _not_ going to be formulaic?” _Probably not._

“People like cliches. Besides there aren’t many options for handling a situation like that.” Saihara munches on a handful of popcorn.

“I would handle that situation _way_ differently.” Ouma declares, flipping onto his back, almost kicking Saihara in the process. The bowl almost spills out of his hands. _Stop moving so much!_

“Oh really? How so?” he asks, carefully putting the bowl back on the table just in case Ouma kicks him again.

“I’d take them out, of course,” Ouma smirks as if he’s calling an assassin right now to do the job. “I can’t have anyone harassing my beloved Saihara-chan.”

Saihara can’t help but snort. “No, you wouldn’t.” The movie is no longer of any interest. “My guess is you would just bother them until they left.”

Ouma pouts and throws the pillow at him. “Still more exciting than this cliche mess!” Saihara can only shake his head as he places the pillow back where it came from. “Well fine, how would _you_ handle it?”

“I’m pretty sure you can take care of yourself.”

“Humor me.”

“Well, if you must know….” Saihara pauses. How  _would_ he deal with this? He’s not confrontational at all, but if he _had_ to be…“I’d…probably handle it the same way as in the movie.”

“Now that’s interesting.” Ouma pushes himself up into a seated position with an amused grin.

“Didn’t you just say that was cliche?”

“Yeah, but,” Ouma nudges Saihara with his shoulder. “It’s so out of character for you that it’s interesting again. Unlike burly boy wonder there on the screen who just oozes machismo.” He gestures dismissively at the jacked main character of the movie.

Saihara chuckles at that. “Yeah, he’s a walking cliche, I’ll give you that. But still. Now you _have_ to admit that even you like cliches.”

“You got me there…” Ouma mutters, grabbing the popcorn from the table. “Fine.” A head rests on Saihara’s shoulder. “But only if they come from you,” he says, passing the bowl Saihara’s way.

“Yeah, alright,” Saihara smiles and takes the bowl offered him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Look at me—just breathe, okay?”
> 
> Despair fever verse again! This one is earlier in the timeline, back in chapter 3.

Ouma-kun, even when sick with the fever, still has a surprising amount of energy to be running around the school like this. It’s past midnight and they’re still exploring the school. _It’s almost impressive how much he can make himself do…_

They’re zipping back through the second floor when–The door to classroom 2B is a crack open. _That wasn’t like that before._ “Ouma-kun.”  

Ouma-kun stops, frowning. “We should investigate that.” His voice lacks the usual childish glee, before he rushes to the door, leaving Saihara in his dust.

“Wait!” Saihara scrambles to catch up, as Ouma-kun pushes the door open.

“I knew it,” Ouma-kun whispers. Saihara’s eyes are slowly drawn from the swaying shadow on the floor to the silhouette floating in the center of the room.

There was someone hanging from one of the rafters.

 _No._ A giant piano. _N-no–_ A chain. _Not again!_ Akamatsu-san– _NO!_ Relentless image after image of that first execution flooding his thoughts–Saihara stumbles backward.

“We need to go. The culprit might…”

Ouma-kun fades out as Saihara collapses. Everything is foggy and distant like he’s underwater. He can’t breathe. It’s all going white except for that dark silhouette. Just hanging there, drifting back and forth, hanging hanging  _hanging–Akamatsu-san!_ He can’t watch that again, the way she was hanging there, lifelessly, killed for all to see– _Not again not again_ ** _not again!_ **

“Saihara-chan?” Is that his name? He can’t hear anything over the static, constant ear-ringing static. There’s nothing but the noise and hanging corpse–it’s so  _so hard to breathe–_

He thinks he hears something drop before him, and all he can think of is the body hitting the floor like a discarded rag–“Look at me.” Hands firmly grip his shoulders before dropping them as if they burned, but it was something outside all the fuzz and static. The world is blurry–oh so blurry. “Look at me–just–breathe, okay?” Purple eyes take up his vision.

Reflexively Saihara backs up and looks away, but it’s still hanging there, the dead body, and the static is coming back louder–but then someone’s in front of him again. “Look at me, okay? just–fucki–focus on me. And breathe.” There’s a frustrated mutter that Saihara can’t make out over his speeding heartbeat. The world is distorted, but there  _is_ a world. It’s not just a white void. There’s air. _I should–I need to–_

“Breathe.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

“That’s it, just–breathe.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Over. And over. And over. The static slowly fades away; the world slowly comes into focus.

There’s white, but this time it’s fabric, frayed at the edges. _That’s right. I was–_ Saihara lifts his head. Sitting before him, panic clear in his eyes, was Ouma-kun. “Saihara-chan?” He asks, so quietly like if he asks any louder, everything will shatter.

There’s still the body hanging there in the corner of his eye– _breathe._ It’s not happening again. _Inhale._ This isn’t her execution again. _Exhale._ That’s not Akamatsu-san. “I–I’m okay.”

Ouma-kun doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t voice it. Instead, he slumps in relief. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“I’m sorry.” Saihara bows his head.

“That’s–don’t apologize for that.” Ouma-kun’s fists are balled. “If anyone should apologize–” He sighs. “Never mind.”

“I…we probably should go” They’re the only ones who know someone’s died. A quick glance at the body confirms it’s Shinguuji-kun. _So there’s been a murder…_

He’s about to rise on unsteady legs when an already standing Ouma-kun holds out his hand. “I don’t need you collapsing on me again,” he says with a grin, but the concern in his eyes is still there. He takes the hand offered to him, and Ouma-kun pulls him up.

“Thanks. Not just for helping me up, but,” Saihara fumbles with words. “Just–thank you.” It’s soft, but it’s true. That Ouma-kun would try–would  _stay–_ It’s an aspect of the seemingly carefree supreme leader he didn’t expect, but he’s grateful.

Ouma-kun spins on his heel and marches to the door. “Well! We should head back. We’ll deal with this tomorrow. It’s not like we have a good excuse to explain why we were together in the middle of the night with a body, now do we?” Saihara can almost laugh at how quickly he’s resumed his usual attitude.

Just before he leaves, he pauses at the door. Barely above a whisper: “I’m glad you’re okay.” And Saihara knows that’s not a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a love hate relationship with this particular one so any comments would be very much appreciated. Thanks for reading, as always.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Can I have this dance?"
> 
> Masquerade ball? Royalty? Fairy tale romance? It's more likely than you think. (I had too much fun. This one will probably spiral like despair fever. fair warning).

It’s boring. This masquerade ball--it’s boring. He has to keep himself from yawning as he observes the crowd from the wall of the large ballroom. But everyone before him is just....dull. The men in masks traveling from partner to partner looking to find someone to charm away for a night, while women in extravagant dresses desperately searching for the prince who should be here in hopes they can find him and steal his heart. _As if,_ Prince Kokichi Ouma thinks to himself. He almost scoffs at the thought.

He doubts any of the people here are worth his time for a night, never mind a place at his side by the throne. They’re all so...boring. _It’s a good thing I came in disguise,_ he thinks, adjusting the chessboard mask on his face. He doesn’t mind being personable, but he’d rather not deal with everyone flocking to him at once, desperate to win his favour.

The grandfather clock ticks ever so slowly. He still has a while to go before he’s allowed to leave. Kokichi spots one of his attendants by the feast and pushes himself off the wall to go bother them for a bit when a hand taps his shoulder. _Ooorrrr…I’ll deal with this person first!_

Kokichi turns around, and his prepared response gets stuck in his throat. The man before him is practically covered from head to toe in black. Black gloves, black suit, black hat—the white stripes on his mask stick out, but not as much as the golden eyes behind it. The only part of the stranger he can see. The stranger bows, hand outstretched. “May I have this dance?”

He pauses, gazing at the stranger before him, still stuck on those golden eyes. Is it just him, or did they seem a little familiar? “You may.” He accepts the gloved hand offered to him, and the stranger leads him to the dancefloor. _This may be interesting yet._

And so they dance, or rather…attempt to. It’s more an almost waltz than the precise elegant moves he was used to. They aren’t the show-stopping duo; they’re the background extras. The stranger doesn’t say anything as he traverses the floor. No idle conversation, no attempts at wooing or favour gaining, just silence as he leads. He’s clearly tense; Kokichi can feel it through the hand he rests on his shoulder.

The stranger missteps once again, and almost steps on Kokichi’s foot. “For someone who asked me to dance, you kind of suck at it. Wouldn’t you just hide away in the corner and hope no one asks?” He can’t help but tease his mysterious partner.

“Ah, um,” The stranger stumbles through his words like he does his steps, and Kokichi wonders what face he makes beyond the mask. “Normally yes, but…you looked bored so I thought I’d try.” He steps a little too far forward and Kokichi almost wants to take the lead himself.

“Bored? Me?” _Was I really that transparent?_ Kokichi grins. “Never! It was all an act to get _your_ attention.” A lie.

“Doubt it. You haven’t noticed me once.” The stranger states plainly, and his confidence translates to his movements as they weave gracefully through the other dancers across the floor.

“Oho! So you’ve been watching me?” Kokichi laughs as he’s spun. “I have an admirer then! Isn’t that just a little creepy though? Are you sure you should be admitting that?”

The little whine the stranger makes is almost adorable. _Can’t handle teasing, huh? Definitely amusing._ Still, he rebounds quickly, “It’s second nature to me to notice unusual behavior, and someone leaning against the wall all night certainly counts.”

“All night? Isn’t that exaggerating things? I did dance with other people, you know.” The music builds as they reach the center of the room, but Kokichi doesn’t really care about that. This conversation is far more fun.

“The servant you coerced into dancing with you doesn’t count.” Blunt. _So he saw that too._ The stranger now moves with ease. His shoulders have relaxed, Kokichi notices. He can’t see his masked partner’s face, but he can feel the confidence they’ve built.

“Picky. Alright fine.” Kokichi concedes as he’s spun yet again. “But surely, there are more interesting things to look for, aren’t there? The prince should be here you know! Why not look for him?” The music crescendos to a climax.

“That’s exactly what I was doing…” The stranger dips him and song closes. “Your Highness.” Kokichi feels weightless staring up into those familiar but foreign golden eyes. _I’ve been found out,_ and he almost...doesn’t care. His heart flutters in his chest.

The clock strikes the hour, and the stranger lifts him back to his feet. “Thank you for the dance. It’s been an honor.” The stranger begins to leave, but just before he walks past Kokichi, he whispers. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. It'll be our secret,” and vanishes into the crowd.

Kokichi can only stare, mouth agape, as the next song begins and the people dance around him. _He’s gone…._ “Heh,” he snickers, before ducking his way through the crowd, searching for a black and white mask and golden eyes. _As if I’d let someone so interesting just leave. This only just got fun._ The flutter in his chest agrees.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Don't cry."
> 
> It's another ch4 canon divergence AU, but this time Ouma fucked everything up already! Also I bent the prompt again. Whoops. It's fine. Anyway enjoy.

_“Momota-kun has everyone on his side. You have no one.”_

_Yeah. I know,_ Ouma thinks, walking back towards the dorms. It’s late. It’s dark. The last stages of his plan are set in motion.

_“Can everyone please get along?”_

_“Okay, I promise.”_

_I lied,_ and his fists are clenched so tightly it hurts. It’s fine. He’s almost back at his dorm.

_Gonta is tied to a post, assaulted by robot bug after robot bug. Again and again and again–it’s relentless. He closes his eyes and braces for the final strike, and Ouma thinks he should be tied up there too._

“Don’t cry…” He fishes out his lockpicking tools, and it takes far too long to successfully grab them.

It’s his fault. It’s all his fault.

_You had to._

”Don’t cry.” They don’t want to stay in his hands, his twitching and trembling hands.

Gonta is dead, and he’s alone, and it’s all his fault.

_You had to! It’ll pay off to destroy this game._

“ _Don’t_ cry.” His eyes sting, and when he blinks his vision is blurred by tears.

And he deserves it. No–he deserves worse.

_All that matters is we destroy this game._

“ _Don’t._ **_Cry._ ** _”_ But it’s too late. One–two–more tears slowly drip his face. There’s a crack in the dam of Ouma’s facade. It’s even harder to pick the door open, _why did I decide keeping my key locked in my room was a great plan aga–_

“Ouma-kun.” A voice calls his name from behind him. Saihara. **_Fuck._ ** Of course it’s Saihara.

Ouma is completely still. _Turn around in three and pretend that nothing’s wrong because nothing is wrong._ He rubs his scarf against his slightly wet face to cover the evidence. _Three…two…one._ “Did you follow me out, Saihara-chan?” The smile stretched across his face hurts. “I didn’t think you liked me that much! You did just tell me how alone I was, didn’t you?” That has a little too much bite. _Whatever. I can make it work._ “Shouldn’t you be with Momota-chan?”

Saihara winces before finally, his words come together. “…Momota-kun didn’t want me around, and…” He shifts his balance from one side to the other, staring at the floor. “I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave you alone.”

“Aww, you’re worried about me! Or rather, worried about what I’ll _do_ .” His trademark smirk is plastic. His eyes still sting. The wall is still fractured. _I have to wrap this up quick._ “Still, you don’t have to worry! I’ve had enough fun for one day.” It takes more effort than it should to not trip over his lies. “The despair on your faces was enough to satisfy me for at least a day! Wouldn’t want to overd–”

“You’re lying.” Saihara looks him right in the eye. “That–that’s all a lie, isn’t it?”

 _Tch, not enough?_ “Did you not understand me earlier? I _live_ for your despair!” The mask of a wicked mastermind doesn’t fit as well as he would like, but it’s enough. “Your suffering brings me joy like NOTHING else! Do you get it–”

“I overheard you earlier,” Saihara says, and Ouma’s act shrivels up and dies.

“….Overheard what?” And it doesn’t have any edge or confidence no matter how much Ouma tries to summon it. The cracks in Ouma’s facade spread and grow.

“You ordering yourself not to cry. Plus, your eyes are red-rimmed, and you’ve been blinking a lot more than a person would normally,” Saihara deduces like this is another class trial.

 _Can I really not hide_ ** _anything_** _right now!?_ The lockpick needles in Ouma’s hands are digging into his skin from how hard he’s squeezing them. “What if I’m just putting on a show? I do that, you know. I did earlier.” _Why do I sound so WEAK?_

 _“_ For who exactly? And…I don’t think that was a show anymore.” Saihara moves as if to fidget with a hat that’s no longer there. “Not…after this.”

“Oh? So Saihara-chan knows me so well now?” Now there’s bite, but he wishes there wasn’t. This is  _not_ the recovery he needs to make. His vision is blurry again. The wall he’s built is littered with cracks and crevices and holes.

“No. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know what you’re up to, or what you want, or anything.” _Damn right you don’t,_ but Saihara isn’t finished. “Maybe you really do love our suffering, and whatever’s getting to you right now is entirely unrelated but…I don’t think it is. I don’t think you’d be so desperate to hide it if it was.”

Saihara pauses, and Ouma can see him putting the words together in his eyes. Ouma’s internal dam is barely standing. “It’s okay if you need to cry.” His words have lost their deductive edge, to something softer. Not quite concern, not quite sympathy, but gentle. “Today was painful for you too, wasn’t it?”

And everything shatters at once.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'll walk you home."

Momota shoved him off for the 20th time that party and Ouma decides maybe he should annoy someone else. Someone like…Saihara! He hasn’t seen Saihara in over an hour. Surely the detective will bring something fun to the table!

“Saaaaaihara-chan–!” but he stops after he reaches the couch. Saihara’s leaning against the armrest, eyes closed. There’s the smallest amount of drool hanging from his lips. He looks peaceful. Adorable even, but totally unawake right now. _You’re such a lightweight,_ Ouma thinks, but he can’t keep that slight fond smile from his face. There go Ouma’s plans. _Alright, time to take you home._

Poke. Saihara’s cheek is soft, but there’s no response. Another poke. Saihara makes a little noise and shifts position slightly. Poke poke poke. “You need to wake up, sleepyhead,” Ouma coos, relentlessly poking Saihara’s cheek.

Saihara whines, “Alright stop I get it!” before rubbing his eyes and sitting up. “Is the party still going on?” he asks, still not awake enough to take in his surroundings.

“Sure is, but not for you! You’re going home,” Ouma replies, offering Saihara his hand. Saihara yawns before he takes it, and Ouma pulls him up. “Jeez, you’re heavy~ Maybe I shouldn’t take you home.”

Saihara is half leaning on him as they walk to the door. “You don’t…have to. I can just ask Momota-kun…” His words are mumbled and hard to decipher.

“Nope~! I’ll do it. I’ll walk you home.” Ouma glances over at Momota as they walk out the door. “Besides, I think Momota-chan just challenged Hoshi-chan to a drink off, so he’ll be a while,” he snickers.

“If you say so…” Saihara’s whispers, rubbing his eyes again, desperate to keep himself awake.

The walk back to Saihara’s room is quiet, interrupted only by Saihara’s yawns and borderline snores. Ouma can tell he’s struggling to stay awake on the walk back from the occasional stumble. He’s all but entirely collapsed on Ouma, but Ouma doesn’t mind.

They’re almost back when Saihara murmurs something. “Hmmm?” Ouma readjusts Saihara propped against his shoulder, before fishing for his lockpicking tools. “You’ll have to speak up; I’m not fluent in sleepy, Saihara-chan,” he says, picking the door open instead of asking for the keys.

Saihara straightens up and stretches his arms behind him. “No, it’s just…I’m not used to seeing the responsible side of you.”

“Me? Responsible? Pfft, have you mistaken me for someone else in your sleep-filled haze?” Ouma snorts, pushing the door open. It’s a lie of course. He has subordinates to take care of.

Saihara shakes his head and enters his dark room without bothering to flip on the lights. “Thanks,” Saihara smiles, sleep-ridden and soft, hair messily strewn across his face, and it’s the most beautiful thing Ouma’s ever seen.

“Sure you don’t need me to tuck you in too? You did stumble like 20 times~”

“Goodnight, Ouma-kun,” and the door shuts in his face. _I am so gay._


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Take my jacket; it's cold outside."

Saihara’s going over old case files by the coffee table when Ouma steps out of his bedroom in a worn out t-shirt and ripped jeans. “I’m going out!”

“In that?” Saihara asks. It’s the middle of January and it’s freezing. His roommate makes the weirdest choices.

“Yep! Gonna see if the rich guy I’m seeing tonight will lose his shit when I show up to that fancy restaurant in this,” Ouma snickers, and Saihara’s stomach twists. _Oh….it’s…a date._ “It’ll be a test of character.” Ouma runs a hand through his already messy hair and musses it further. He pivots to face Saihara. “Well? How do I look? Like a total slob?” His eyes have that telltale mischievous sparkle, and Saihara’s heart rate speeds up.

 _Great._ “Like you’re going to freeze.” Saihara gets up and walks to the coat closet. “It snowed not even three hours ago,” he says, shuffling through the overstuffed closet. _When did this ancient stuffed bunny get here?_

“I’ll be fiiiiiineeee. It’s not like I get sick anyw–” But Ouma stops mid-word as Saihara drapes his old worn out black coat over his shoulders.

“Take it. It’s cold out.” He tries not to think about how small Ouma looks in that jacket. It doesn’t matter. The adorable sight isn’t for him anyway. His gut twists further.

Ouma blinks up at him bewildered, and Saihara swears he saw the slightest hint of pink on those cheeks. Eventually, “Aaalright, if it makes you happy~” he singsongs, shoving his arms in the sleeves. “I really should go though; I’m at  _least_ an hour late! Later!”

Saihara can’t help giggle as Ouma strolls out the door. He ignores how his stomach has curled itself into a painful knot.  He tries to forget why.

Not even a half hour later, the front door flies open. “You’re back early,” Saihara remarks, straightening out the papers before him and putting them in the file.

“As expected, Togami-chan was  _noooot_ happy. It wasn’t even funny; he just glared at me in the most condescending manner. So I left!” Ouma flops next to him on the couch without bothering to take the jacket off, and Saihara pretends a wave of gratitude didn’t sweep through him. “Might as well spend time with someone who appreciates me if it’s not even going to be funny, right?” He nudges Saihara’s shoulder.

“You should take the coat off at least. You’re inside,” Saihara says, opening up another folder.

“Awww, but you gave it to me! What if I wanna keep it?” Ouma whines, wrapping himself further in the jacket for good measure.

“Why would you want to keep it?” Saihara looks up at him to ask.

“Because it’s my beloved Saihara-chan’s,” Ouma says, voice soft, his expression serious for once. Saihara wills the blood from rushing to his face. “‘Besides, it’s suuuper comfy! So it’s mine now. I’m keeping it.” And with that Ouma kicks his feet up on the coffee table.

“If you really want it.” He can’t say no to that, not when Ouma curled up in that jacket makes his heart squeeze in the most pleasant way.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You can't keep doing this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So if you've read this far then you've definitely read my despair fever verse prompts. Good news! I've put them in their own seperate fic/series, so you can find all of them in one place [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/927153)! I've also added a bad end to the series, so if you want to be sad, check that out. Anyway, while I won't be deleting the initial entries in that verse I have in this compilation, cause I like the comments, I _will_ establish that going forward any new installments in that verse will be in that fic, and not here. So there you go. 
> 
> Anyway enjoy~!

_“Have you ever thought, Saihara-chan, it’s because I might actually like you?”_

_Silence. Saihara’s face turns scarlet. ‘I said that out loud didn’t I. FUCK.’_

“ _Y-you….you do?”_

_“Nope! It was a lie! Now, I gotta go. Bye, Saihara-chan!”_

_“Wait! Ouma-kun!” But it doesn’t matter if Saihara shouts after him, he’s already gone._

 

“Ouma-kun, are you busy?”

“Yep! Very! Got a date with the president, so see ya~!”

 

“Hey, can we talk?”

“Would love to chat, really, but I’ve got  _sooooo_ much work to do! Bye!”

 

“Ouma-ku–”

“Would you look the time? It’s reaaallly late. I should sleep. Night-night Saihara-chan~!”

 

He’s been avoiding Saihara for several days since the incident. He’s not even been doing it subtly; he knows he’s just digging the hole he put himself in deeper, but he doesn’t stop. He’s not ready for this conversation. He has to put it off.

He swings his legs on the bench hidden in the quiet corner of the school. He needs to think. Maybe come up with a better plan. Maybe grow a pair and face up to what he said–he shakes his head. No, definitely not that.

He spots Saihara across the grounds. _Aaaaand, that’s my cue to leave!_ Saihara glances his way. Eye contact. _Fuck._ He makes his way over to Ouma’s bench. _Think of a lie think of a lie–_ “Ouma-kun.”

“Saihara-chan!” Ouma sidesteps and gets ready to run. “I think–”

But Saihara steps right back in front of him. “You can’t keep doing this.”

 _Is this really going to happen now?!_ “Doing what?” Ouma tilts his head to the side, finger pressed against his cheek. It’s fine; he’ll just play dumb until he thinks of something.

“Avoiding me.” Saihara’s gaze is determined; Ouma can’t look him in the eye.

“Yes I can!” Ouma turns around and starts running but is stopped by a hand grabbing his wrist. He freezes: unable to turn around, to move, to breathe.

“Wait,” Saihara requests. It’s soft, like a plea. As much as Ouma wants to tear himself away from his grip, he can’t say no to that, so he stays. “I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Saihara speaks softly as if he’s trying to comfort a terrified animal he’s trying not to scare off. “You’re scared of what I might say, right?”

Ouma doesn’t answer. Of  _course_ he is. It’s not just what Saihara could say, it’s what it could mean! If Saihara rejects him–pfft, if– _when_ Saihara rejects him it’s the end, right? Not that Saihara would ever cut off all ties, but have you seen him? He’s got no poker-face. The dynamic would be excruciatingly awkward for the rest of time; it might as well be over!

“I understand. I’d be terrified too.” Saihara’s grip on his wrist loosens. He could run. He should run! But he doesn’t. Instead, he’s stuck there, feet rooted in place, waiting for Saihara to deliver the metaphorical death sentence. “But, Ouma-kun…

I like you too.”

Time has stopped. _Did I just hear…?_ No. _No,_ this can’t be real. This is a dream or a lie, or–Ouma turns around slowly, to face Saihara, yanking his wrist free. With a blank expression, “That’s a terrible lie, Saihara-chan.”

“I’m not lying,” Saihara says, resolutely. “I like you.” Ouma searches his golden eyes for any trace of deceit, but he can’t find it. He can’t find it! It should be there, but he can’t find it!

All he can do is stare in disbelief, and let out a quiet “You do?” Saihara nods with pink stained cheeks, and he imagines his own must be a similar color. _This…is real._ He doesn’t get how this could be real. In every version of this scenario that’s played out in his mind it’s always ended in ‘I’m sorry,’ but Saihara said ‘I like you too.’

Ouma’s eyes widen in realization. _Of course,_ and the surprise and shock on his face melt into a tender smile of understanding. _I never could predict you after all._ “Then you won’t mind if I do this~!” He grabs Saihara’s hand in his own. It’s warm.

Saihara blinks, and then giggles. “No. Of course not.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

_“If the day comes that we are reborn once again…”_

Momota lays you down on the hydraulic press, the cold metal stinging against your bare back. You almost wish you could move, but you can’t. Even if there wasn’t poison flowing through your veins like fire, you’re stuck here.

You are going to die.

_“I'm glad you came, Saihara-chan! Remember! Today's your last chance, okay?”_

But it’s alright. You might die here, but it’s for a good cause. This will work. This will end the killing game. It has to! Momota can’t possibly fuck this up; he has a script. This will work. This will work. This will work. This will work!

You are going to die.

_“Now, it's time for the final game! It's this... Ta-daaaa!”_

Momota stands by the control panel, hands hovering at his sides. _Just push the buttons!_ And he does, but he moves so slowly, hands creeping upwards in slow-motion. Time itself has slowed to a stop. Every minute millisecond is an hour, no a day, no a year. Who knew your death would take forever?

You are going to die.

 _“Whoa! A knife!? What are you...?”_ _  
_ _“Nishishi~ don't get so antsy. Don't worry—it's only for the game. You know what the knife game is, right?”_

A deep breath. Yes. You are going to die here. But it’s alright. You might die, but this killing game will end. Every other victim will be avenged, and everyone here—you’ll save them. They’ll be free. They’ll be free. They’ll be free. In your mind, the end wall shatters, and Saihara’s smile is bright.

You are going to die.

 _“The knife game”_ _  
_ _“Place your palm on the table with fingers apart. With the knife, stab between your fingers.”_

God, Saihara— _Saihara!_ There’s so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to do, so much he never understood but god you wanted him to! You wanted him to understand so badly! Even if you kept dancing away from his outstretched hand, and pushed him aside, and dismissed with masks and acts and lies—

You are going to die.

 _“What!? That's so dangerous!”_ _  
_ _“This will be today's challenge. This is fitting for the final game, isn't it?”_ __  
“But, this is...really dangerous... What if we get hurt?”

The press descends at a creeping pace, so slow you only notice because you’re aware this is your end. You don’t want to die! You wanted to see more! To do more! To see the world outside the end wall, with him, with him, with him! Why did you keep pushing him out? He hates you now, doesn’t he? Of course he does. Why wouldn’t he?

You are going to die.

 _“Hm, what are you talking about? Saihara-chan, if you lose... You'll be beyond just injured, y'know? You'll die._ _  
_ _I'll make the first move, okay?”_

Maybe you should have done things differently. Maybe you should have taken that outstretched hand, and walked away from this path of isolation. You wouldn’t have to die. You could have made it out past the end wall with him. You could have seen the end that now you  _die_ for. You wouldn’t be so alone!

You are going to die.

 _“I'm ready!”_ _  
_ _TAP TAP TAP TAP!_ _  
_ _SHK! Blood._ _  
_ _“Ouch!”_ __  
“Ouma-kun!?”

You’re alone. The weight of the statement crushes you like the metal slab that hovers above you. You are so  _so_ alone.

You are going to die.

_“You don't have to keep going, stop! Just stay still, I'll take care of you, okay?”_

As the press reaches you, you think:

_“It’d be nice play with you; so I’ll wait for you ‘til then”_

* * *

 

“Heeeeyyy! Saihara-chan!”

Gold eyes turn to greet you. He smiles.

“Let’s play a game!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who am I if not seriously bending what counts as a prompt fill lol.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a prequel of sorts to the masquerade fic you saw here earlier (chapter 14)! I actually made a few minor changes to that one after writing this one, so if you haven't read it in a while, go check that out too! It's the same verse!

The ballroom doesn’t look any different from how Shuuichi remembers it, even if it’s been years and years since he’s last been here. It’s still grand and elegant and golden, with giant arches and that beautiful, almost starry pattern on the ceiling. There are still crowds of wealthy people in the most extravagant, colorful outfits with gaudy masks parading across the almost shiny floor. Everything is all too familiar, even if it’s been 11 years since he last set foot here.

By contrast, Shuuichi feels rather plain and out of place, with a simple all black suit, and a black and white mask, hovering by a buffet table. A stark contrast to all the golds and greens and garnet reds dancing throughout the room. But it’s easier for him to work like this. He can observe in peace without attracting attention from the crowd. He’s looking for someone. The Prince, Kokichi Ouma.

* * * * *

The room feels too big, with its arches and its pillars and its star-like ceiling. Shuuichi would rather be at his uncle’s listening to him explain old case files he’s perusing, then standing here by a buffet table as his parents socialize with the other nobles on the dance floor. He doesn’t even really understand why he had to come to this ball anyway. There doesn’t appear to be many, if any, other kids here. His parents mentioned something about status or appearances, but he wasn’t paying attention.

He’s in the midst of picking up another flaky croissant when something pokes his back. “Ah!” The croissant falls messily back onto the stack it came from. _Oh no!_ He’s making a mess, does he deal with that first, or whatever poked him? He turns around. It’s a boy his age, with dark hair and a fancy suit, but what sticks out the most is those bright purple eyes.

* * * * *

The Prince, for his part, certainly made the masquerade interesting. No one has been able to find him the entire evening. The women who pass by his spot frequently chatter about maybe spotting him, before going ‘no that can’t be him!’ noting the outfit isn’t extravagant enough. The Prince promised to be in the most intricate, stand out outfit, but Shuuichi has his doubts. It seems the masquerade is meant to serve as a game of sorts. “Heh.” He cracks a smile at that. Well, a game is meant to be played, and Shuuichi plans to win.

* * * * *

“A-ah um, hello,” Shuuichi greets with a slight wave, surprised that there is another child here. The boy just looks at him expectantly with a grin. “Um, did your parents force you to come here too?”

“You could say that!” The boy snickers behind a finger, swaying back and forth on his feet. “But I managed to sneak away from them! Shhh!” He seems to have an abundance of energy.

Shuuichi can only nod slowly, still in disbelief someone his age is here at all. He knew the Prince would be here, but the Prince is being kept under surveillance and being shown off by the King and Queen, so he doesn’t count.

The strange boy leans in close to his face all of a sudden, and Shuuichi gulps from the sudden proximity. “Hey!” He tilts his head to the side with a devilish grin. “Do you wanna play a game?”

* * * * *

Against the adjacent wall, a man in all white with a chessboard mask harasses one of the staff. Shuuichi doesn’t hear their conversation, but he watches. The man pokes the servant as if trying to throw him and his tray of food off balance, but nothing happens. The servant laughs, loud enough for Saihara to hear, and pats the stranger’s back discretely before placing the tray down and vanishing.

The man in white gets bored once the servant leaves, visibly deflating and leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything different from Shuuichi, _Interesting._

* * * * *

“A game?” Shuuichi asks, eyes darting around the room as if that’ll somehow fix the lack of distance between him and the strange boy. It doesn’t. The boy nods excitedly. Why does he have a feeling he might end up in trouble if he agrees? “What kind of game?”

“Hmmm….” The boy leans back, staring at the ceiling, tapping a finger to his chin as he hums. “I was thinking tag!” He chirps, jumping up in place with a bright smile.

“Wouldn’t that be difficult with all these people…?” Shuuichi asks, glancing at the crowded dancefloor. It’d be hard to run around and between all these people without accidentally running into someone, probably more than once.

“Not if you know where to go!” The boy dismisses, his grin still as bright. _Know…where to go…?_ “So do you accept?”

Shuuichi glances between him and the dancefloor, again and again. Should he? He might get into trouble if this boy doesn’t actually know where he’s going. Or maybe this is dangerous! He did say he snuck away from his parents; maybe Shuuichi will get in trouble for being with him! He doesn’t even have a name!

But the boy in front of him looks so excited, bouncing on his heels, and Shuuichi is really bored, so, “Okay.”

“Good!” The boy shouts, purple eyes sparkling bright. He slaps Shuuichi’s arm—“Tag, you’re it!” he shouts, and dashes through the crowd.

* * * * *

Shuuichi watches the man in white for the entire night, but he doesn’t do anything particularly noteworthy. The man just stands there with a vacant, almost bored expression, occasionally bothering some poor servant who comes by, and they handle him with ease. No, more than that, they handle him like they’re happy to.

Another servant approaches him directly. As always, he can’t make out their conversation, but judging from how the white-clad man deflates it’s not something he wanted to hear. But he perks up just as fast with a grin and seems to offer something. Initially, the black-haired servant turns him down with a shake of his head, but the man insists. And with a visible sigh, he accepts.

The chessboard masked man drags the servant towards the dancefloor with a cheery grin. As he passes, Shuuichi thinks he catches a glimpse of purple beyond the mask.

* * * * *

The boy weaves past the crowd with such expert ease, and Shuuichi struggles to keep up. He almost runs into a woman, only narrowly dodging their collision, but he keeps his eye on the target. Soon he finds himself running through the palace’s empty garden outside the ballroom. “Are we allowed to be here?” Shuuichi shouts.

“It’s fiiiine,” the boy waves him off, making a dash around a rosebush and a sudden left. “Weren’t you worried about running into people? Look, there’s no people!”

“I’m more—“ Shuuichi almost trips over a rock nearby the rosebush—“I’m more worried about trespassing! This is royal property, and those doors were closed!”

The boy laughs at him for tripping. “Oh come on! If we really weren’t allowed to be here, they’d lock the doors, right?” He bolts to the right past a sea of purple flowers. “Now hurry up, slowpoke!”

“I’m doing my best!” Shuuichi shouts but tries to run faster anyway. He’s so close; he can just barely not reach. Just as the boy runs past a white gazebo, Shuuichi manages to tap his wrist. He grins. “You’re it!” And then he sprints the other way.

* * * * *

Purple. _Could it be…?_ Shuuichi doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, keeping all conclusions to himself as he watches a bored servant lazily half-ass a tango with a laughing man in white. Occasionally the man pokes the servant's side or his face, and the servant just doesn’t react, motioning his way through the tango, but this only seems to make the man laugh more. There’s something playful about the entire encounter. Shuuichi smiles beneath the mask. _He might be._

* * * * *

They play tag, dashing across the garden with huge smiles well into the night. Shuuichi’s managed to catch him a few times, but the other boy seems to know his way around the place like an expert, and he’s fast. He even managed to successfully trip Shuuichi just to evade capture for another five minutes.

But finally, they stopped running around and sat down across each other in the white gazebo to catch their breaths. It’s quiet, with only the distant sound of violins and crickets, and panting. The other boy smiles up at him from his seat. “So, did you have fun? I told you we wouldn’t get in trouble!”

“We haven’t gotten into trouble _yet,”_ Shuuichi counters, but he’s smiling too. He didn’t think he’d enjoy himself this much at a stuffy ball his parents forced him to go to, but here he is. Sitting under a gazebo with a boy whose name he still doesn’t know. “That could change.”

“Oh come on!” The boy huffs, folding his arms. “It’s been at least an hour I think we’d have been yelled at by now!” He picks a leaf off a nearby bush and attempts to throw it at Shuuichi and fails miserably.

Shuuichi just laughs. “Yeah yeah, alright. And yeah,” he agrees lightly, staring at the peaceful starlit garden. “I had fun.”

“Good!” The boy chirps, lighting up with a wide grin. “Because you looked bored. Mission accomplished!” Shuuichi’s heart skips a beat.

* * * * *

The servant bows to the white-suited man taking his leave, and the man’s bored expression resumes as he goes back to the wall he was comfortably leaning on. Shuuichi is almost certain now; this is who he’s looking for.

But how does he approach him? What does he even say? Does he introduce himself? Does he just ask for a dance? Does he start the conversation just by dropping his suspicions? Confronting the suspect has always been his least favorite part of an investigation, and even in this situation he can’t help but feel that way. He’s scared, heart beating rapidly in his chest, so all he does is watch and watch as time ticks by.

The white-clad man sighs for what’s probably the 20th time that night, and Shuuichi steels his resolve.

* * * * *

The comfortable atmosphere is broken by the sound of a commotion inside the ballroom. The boy across from him tsks with a frown. “Did they just notice I was gone? Those royal guards are really stupid!”

“Royal…Guards…?” The phrase breaks Shuuichi out of his reverie, as he gazes up at the boy in confusion.

But the boy pays him no mind at all as he stands up, brushing off his dirty suit, before eventually just deciding to shake out his jacket. “I think my parents should fire them honestly. If they fall for Satoshi in a really bad disguise as me for over an hour, they really don’t deserve their jobs!”

The commotion gets louder, and the boy only groans in response. “Yeah, yeah I’m coming back!” he says, turning to face Shuuichi with a smile. Those purple eyes shine brightly. “Well, I must be off. The masses need their prince!” Shuuichi’s eyes widen, and everything clicks into place. “But don’t worry! This will be our secret! I won’t tell anyone!” The Prince winks, waves, and then runs off back towards the ballroom.

Shuuichi quietly gasps as the Prince disappears, heart pounding in his chest. He spent the night playing games with the Prince. Pink dusts his cheeks. _I want to see him again._

* * * * *

The man’s turned around, probably off to find another servant to bother, when Shuuichi taps his shoulder. He turns around, greeting him with bright purple eyes. Shuuichi bows with an outstretched gloved hand. “May I have this dance?”

Those purple eyes gaze at him contemplatively before he says: “You may.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”
> 
> Soulmate AU where so long as you're touching your soulmate, you can hear their thoughts.

Ouma sighs, loitering against the wall in the dimly lit yellow basement of the dorm building, watching as drunk person after drunk person poorly attempts to dance, or make out with their soulmates, or both in a room not exactly designed for college parties. Across the room, Momota shouts something really loud and incredibly slurred about how he’ll win this contest, swinging a bottle of vodka in the air.  _ He’s already had too much to drink.  _ Ouma would bother him, or really anyone in that overcrowded corner, but he’s done that all night, and even Momota has only the same three reactions when he’s drunk.

There’s got to be something fun to do, right? He pushes himself off the wall and looks around. Out from the Momota swarm, someone he’s never seen before stumbles over a discarded jacket.  _ Was he here the whole party?  _ The stranger stands up straight, slightly swaying, before absently glancing around the room. Ah, now he looks familiar. It was hard to recognize him without the hat, but Ouma’s seen him around campus before.  _ Maybe you’ll be fun. _

He skips over to the dazed stranger, stopping just before him. Leaning all the way to the side Ouma says: “Hello hello? Is Ahoge-chan still present?” The stranger blinks slowly, as if he only just noticed Ouma was there. Ouma grins and straightens out. “Apparently not! Y’know, I think you probably need to head home given how little you’re reacting–”

“I recognize you,” the stranger replies, incredibly soft-spoken for someone clearly wasted. “You usually wander around—” hiccup—“campus with that checkered scarf.”  _ Oh, so he recognizes me.  _ Impressive. He’s surprisingly coherent for someone so drunk.

“Actually, that’s my evil twin!” Ouma replies easily, bouncing slightly on his heels. There really isn’t any point to lying to someone who’s drunk, but, “I never wear scarves! It’s the only way you ca—”

He doesn’t get to finish. The stranger leans forward inquisitively head tilted to the side. Then he wobbles, eyes falling shut, and soundly collapses. Ouma’s arms instinctively reach forward and catch him. “Oof,” he grunts, knees bending slightly from the sudden weight. “You’re heavier than you look.”  _ Where’s a couch? _ He can’t exactly drag a stranger back home when he doesn’t know where he lives. A glance to the left and there’s a couch that isn’t drowning in nearly as many red solo cups.  _ That’ll work.  _ He carefully props the stranger on his shoulder, and slowly makes his way over.

_ “He has really pretty eyes.” _

Ouma jerks up slightly at that.  _ Who said that?  _ He glances to his left. Half-lidded eyes greet him, bleary before they fall shut again.  _ So he’s awake. _ It could have been him (it sounded like him), but he doubts it. It sounded far too close.

He shakes his head, resting the stranger on the couch.  _ Let’s make sure you don’t fall unconscious,  _ he thinks as he sits down next to the drunk man. The stranger nods, leaning over and plopping right into Ouma’s lap.

_ “Comfortable….” _

_ Again?  _ This is a little weird, but more importantly—Ouma shakes the half-asleep stranger by the shoulder. “Hey, you can’t pass out right now, alright? I’m not gonna call an ambulance if you fall unconscious, so you need to be awake!” Why is he lying to someone who’s half asleep again? Who knows! The stranger mumbles something that Ouma can’t make out. Well, at least he’s awake, but that’s not good enough. Ouma shakes him again. “Hey, come on!”

_ “Who keeps shaking me…? Sleepy….” _

That confirms it. The voice is definitely the stranger’s, but why is he hearing it so directly?  _ Could it be…? _ Another jostle. He’ll test it.  _ Let’s goooo, sleepyhead! At least let me take you back to your room before you pass out!” _

The stranger in Ouma’s lap mumbles again, slowly blinking his eyes open.  _ “Where…? Wasn’t I—”  _ the stranger gets up, seemingly cutting himself off mid-word. That confirms it. They’re soulmates. This drunk stranger is his soulmate. _ Imagine meeting you like this.  _ The stranger rubs his eyes and looks up at Ouma. “Why was I—”

“You fainted, straight into my arms.” Ouma snickers, waving a hand just for emphasis. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” He reaches out and pokes the sleepy, decidedly wasted stranger directly on the forehead. He smiles, not moving his hand.  _ Found you. _

The stranger jolts upright. He glances around the entire room in a panic before his eyes rest on Ouma. They’re gold and beautiful. “Was that…?”

“Yep!” Ouma chirps, taking his hand away with a grin. “Did you only just notice? How drunk are you?”

“I just thought it just was the—” hiccup—“background noise…” The stranger holds his head in his hand and sighs. “This is not how I thought this would go…” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut.  _ No, don’t— _ but it’s too late. The stranger slumps over again, landing on his shoulder asleep.

_ At least give me a name before you pass out on me! _ Ouma shakes the stranger yet again, and even if the boring party is still carrying on around him, he smiles.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'm not jealous"  
> Day one of Oumasai Week: pre-game

He’s watching that awful show again. Why? Why does he even like it? It’s boring. No, more than boring, it’s disgusting. A show where teenagers kill each other for fake reasons to leave, televised for entertainment. It’s so repulsive. Bile crawls up your throat as the image on his laptop screen zooms into the frozen petrified face of a bloody blue-haired girl. You don’t remember her name. You struggle not to vomit at that.

He winces at the sight but can’t turn away. “I really liked her too…” He murmurs. Quiet. Disappointed. But his eyes don’t leave the screen. He’s enraptured, despite the atrocities. You didn’t think he could be like this when you met. Shy, unconfident, empathetic, and smart--how does such an awful show corrupt someone?

The camera cuts to the cast as they react, and his eyes still haven’t moved. “Asagami-kun seems like the most likely culprit,” he keeps mumbling to himself, pulling out a pad of paper to scribble notes. He told you he wanted to be a detective. This is not what you thought it meant.

The boring, horrific, disgusting show plays on, and he mumbles to himself, scribbling, and doodling, and crossing things out. Occasionally he asks if you follow, and you just shrug and say you don’t really know. He’s too focused on the damn show to respond.

“Y’know I thought we were gonna do something different today,” you interrupt, nonchalantly placing your hands behind your head and glancing at him. Anything to look away from the screen. “Weren’t you going to help me set up the pie shooter prank?”

It takes him a minute to look up, finish jotting down his notes, and hit pause. He smiles sheepishly at you, and it melts your heart despite everything. “Ah, I’m sorry. I just wanted to catch up because I missed the episode last night working on that essay. Um, can I finish this investigation segment?” He asks, ever so shyly, with that smile you grew to love.

“Fiiiiiiine,” You sigh through pursed lips. One day you’ll have to figure out a way to say no to him. “But you better make it up to me! Or else I’ll have to rig your door to splat a pie in your face when you get home from school!” You smile too easily. Too widely.

He doesn’t seem to notice. “Thanks!” he chirps with the brightest smile, hastily clicking play, and you know you’ve lost him again.

He used to talk to you. About his dreams and his day and his desires. He used to say so much. Now he only talks about Dangan Ronpa. He doesn’t talk to you. He just slips further away into a bloody repugnant show.

You’re not jealous. You’re _not._ He still hangs out with you, even if all your time is spent watching that fucking show. You’re not so pathetic you’d be envious of a terrible tv show. The show itself is just evil. It’s just murder for entertainment. That’s all.

But he used to talk to you. He used to smile at you. He used to gush at you about everything and nothing. He used to set up pranks with you, or talk about cold cases with you, or do literally anything else but this.

You glare at the screen and stand up, heading for the door. “I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you call out to nothing. You need to be anywhere else. He barely moves in response. The door clicks closed behind you.

“I’m not jealous,” you mutter. Your heart screams that you are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ideally this is gonna be the start of a weekly update extravaganza so have fun kids! I'm excited, y'know?


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oumasai Week Day 2: Love

The clock in the corner of his laptop screen says it’s 11:51pm.  _ It’s pretty late,  _ Saihara thinks, glancing towards the microwave in his dorm where Ouma stands. It beeps, and he unflinchingly pulls out a hot bag of freshly made popcorn and haphazardly dumping it all into a bowl. “Is…is that the bowl you just had all the gummy bears in?” Saihara asks, skeptically looking at the white bowl now filled to the brim with popcorn.

“Yep!” Ouma chirps, strolling back to the bed. He plops next to Saihara. “I didn’t wash it at all either!” As he scoots back into his seat some popcorn spills to the side that Saihara picks up and pops in his mouth.

“That’s a lie,” Saihara replies between bites, and swipes at a droplet of water on the outside of the bowl to prove his point. “I hope you at least wiped the inside so we don’t have vaguely soggy popcorn.”

“Saihara-chan!” Ouma gasps, placing an affronted hand to his chest. “As if I would ever do something so heinous, so  _ inhumane,  _ to fluffy innocent popcorn!” He adjusts the bowl in his lap and Saihara slides his laptop over so Ouma can see it better. “Now hit play! We have to finish our  _ Yu-Gi-Oh! _ season one marathon!”

Saihara rolls his eyes lightly with a small chuckle and does as he’s told. The ridiculous card game anime commences, but honestly he doesn’t really care about that. He’s more focused on the head resting against his shoulder, gleefully chomping on popcorn.  _ He’s so cute.  _ A tiny, fond smile creeps on his face.  _ Has it really been almost a month?  _ It almost feels like nothing has changed in that time. He’s still pretty reserved, Ouma is still just as touchy, and they still do things like watch classic, but terrible, anime in each other’s dorms.

Ouma throws a piece of popcorn at his head and huffs. “You’re not waaattcchiiiiinnngg!” he whines, elbowing Saihara. “You’re gonna fail the test at this rate,” he grumbles, turning back towards the screen where the illogical duel continues to ramp up. Ouma’s eyes sparkle as the Pharaoh pulls a game-changing move. “Y’know in real life that move is entirely against the rules, but it’s just so cooool when they do it here!”

“It seems convenient,” Saihara replies, resting his head atop Ouma’s lazily gazing at the screen. How does anyone take this show seriously?

“Well of course it’s convenient!” Ouma replies munching on another bit of popcorn. They’re going to run out soon at this rate and the episode isn’t even over. “This show is like 95% plot conveniences! That’s part of the fun!”

“If you say so.” Another trap card is activated in front of him, and Saihara yawns.  _ How many more episodes of this…?  _ Does he even care? Well, he does a little, because it makes Ouma so happy, but personally he could take or leave it. His eyes once again drift away from the screen to the tufts of purple hair brushing against his face.

Every once and a while, Ouma bounces a little with excitement as he relentlessly comments on the episode. Half of his commentary is sarcastic or a joke, but it’s still enthusiastic, in a way you’d only hear if it was something he genuinely liked. That alone is enough to make Saihara’s heart melt. “I love you.”

In a split second Ouma jerks out from beneath him, knocking over the remains of the popcorn. Saihara nearly falls back at the sudden movement. The same episode of  _ Yu-Gi-Oh! _ plays on Saihara’s laptop, now jostled so it half rests on the bed as Ouma stares at him, wide-eyed. “Did…did you just—”

It takes a minute for Saihara to remember how words work, stumbling over sound after sound before managing to say, “Was it too soon?” Neither of them had said it up until now. Sure they were dating, but they didn’t go that far, or that fast, and oh man maybe now he blew it and Ouma won’t want to date him anymore and—

A breath, another glance at Ouma’s face, and Saihara can see nothing except awe. There’s a shine to his eyes and a hint of disbelief in the way his jaw hangs ever so slightly. Pink lightly glazes his cheeks. Time has totally frozen them in place. Neither of them move as the episode plays on behind them. Another breath, slow and long, and finally, Saihara answers, “Yes. I love you.” His heart beats gently, but in the silence of the room, it’s loud.

The pink on Ouma’s cheeks immediately blossoms into a burning red. That frozen moment of time ends as he shoves his burning face against Saihara’s chest. “You can’t just drop that on me while I’m trying to watch  _ Yu-Gi-Oh! _ ! Rude!” He mutters with a childish whine, snaking his arms around Saihara’s waist.

A laugh, half nervous, half giddy bubbles from Saihara’s chest. “Sorry,” he says, draping his arms over his small boyfriend. “I’ll be more considerate next time.” Well, maybe. He’ll try, but Ouma’s reaction was just so cute there’s no way he could totally resist.

“Good,” Ouma replies, showing no signs of moving. Instead he nuzzles closer. Saihara only barely manages to catch the sleepily mumbled “I love you too.” He’s sure Ouma felt the way his heart skipped a beat.

They never finished the marathon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my proofreader who corrected every spelling of Yugioh to Yu-Gi-Oh! lmao. Anyway that's day two! See y'all soon for day three~


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oumasai Week Day 3: Truth/Lies

The outside world isn’t what any of them expected beyond the wall. It’s not what they remembered, but it’s not quite like how Shirogane described it either. The world has largely moved on from Dangan Ronpa, as if it never happened. Saihara wishes they could prosecute Team Dangan Ronpa, but they’ve vanished without a trace, leaving the three of them alone in a world they can’t make sense out of.

As much as Shirogane lied, she did tell the truth about their classmates. They were all tossed in an unmarked grave nearby the End Wall. They only found it because of Harukawa-san’s familiarity with them. It’s not unmarked anymore.

_ Here lies the contestants of the final season of Dangan Ronpa.  
_ _ May their sacrifice be remembered. _

Saihara can’t help but snort bitterly at that as he kneels down in front of the monument. Sure, they care about all those sacrificed  _ now.  _ They didn’t care in the first season. Nor the second. And they didn’t care as his classmates were killing each other for nothing in the last season.  _ Now you care. After so many of us are dead, and it’s over. _

The sun goes down over the horizon. Technically he’s not even allowed to be here at this gravesite right now. But he can’t go during the day, when it’s swamped by tourists and fanboys. They’d only gawk at him and gaze with pitying stares. They don’t actually care. Even as the sun sets it’s far too cheerful.

The list of names is too short and too long. Saihara’s eyes trace down them until they stop just before the end.  _ ‘Ouma Kokichi. June 21 _ _ st _ _ 2031-April 2 _ _ nd _ _ 2047’  _ Their one classmate who could not be buried. He pauses, eyes locked onto a shiny grey name. There’s an unpleasant swirling mixture of anger and regret in his gut.

Ouma-kun did horrible things with ease. He lied, and manipulated, and abused. With every single murder, his evil antics escalated. Iruma-san and Gonta-kun are dead from his actions, and he didn’t seem to care. He carried on with the same wide smile on his face. That same mischievous laugh. He’d lie, dancing out of the way of help almost with glee. Ouma-kun did awful things to them. Saihara grits his teeth. A drop of rain splats on the name.

_ “Well then! Saihara-chan? You found out about my organization, so I’ll need you to die!” _

But that wasn’t all of it, was it? His lab, his room, that motive video, his dying plan—it all points to a different person. Someone so staunchly against murder they’d do anything to end a game centered on it. The Ouma-kun in the killing game was a mask, a façade, a lie. Callous and cruel and fake. And now he’s dead, his mission accomplished without him. He died alone and unburiable. Another drop hits his shoulder. It’s going to pour soon.

_ “Yeah, ‘cause I, the Supreme Leader, am a pacifist. That’s the reason why I’m peacefully challenging you to games.” _

At the end of the day, they have nothing. No body, no will, nothing. He never let himself be understood. He never let himself have anyone. All he left behind is a confusing mix of truth and lies left behind. Ouma-kun loved lies and jokes and games, and hated killing, and yet still found himself guilty of it. He was paranoid and scheming, but childish and fun. Where did the mask end, and Ouma-kun begin?

_ “Nishishi… Now, Saihara-chan, you’ll never forget me for the rest of your life, right?” _

“How…how could I forget?” Saihara clenches his fists as the rain plummets from the sky, pelting his suit. He never took Saihara’s outstretched hand. He’s dead. Saihara never can never figure it out. A permanent mystery he’s never going to truly solve. A cold case of a person.

_ “I already took Saihara-chan’s heart, so I’m satisfied! That’s why I don’t need your life anymore!” _

His nails dig uncomfortably into the skin of his palms. His shoulders shake, but he does not cry. The rain sinks through the layers of his suit. “Is that what you wanted? To steal my heart like this? Leave a confusing mixed trail of clues, and then die never to be understood?!”

But it doesn’t matter what he asks. There won’t ever be an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are day three! Are we having fun yet? Well no maybe not after this but um. Whatever mate! Anyway please comment if you thought or felt anything at all it means the world to me.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”  
> Oumasai Week Day Four: Birthdays (Happy Birthday Ouma!)

_ Just a little moooore….bingo.  _ A click. It takes no effort to break into Saihara’s room. His room has probably the simplest lock on campus for someone who’s so difficult to crack. Or maybe it’s just because he’s so used to doing it.  _ Meh, doesn’t matter _ , he thinks, flopping onto the empty bed.

There’s the sound of a faucet shutting off in the bathroom. Figures. Explains why no one immediately yelled at him. He has to keep his quiet nishishi~ to himself. A quiet sigh as he stares at the ceiling, tracing the patterns he imagines with his eyes. It’ll take Saihara a minute or so to actually get out here, but it’s so boooring having to wait. He can only invent imaginative images for so long.

He thinks he hears some murmuring in the bathroom, and glances over. Not that he can decipher it; it’s muffled from the door.  _ Three...two...one...aannnd… _ .A metaphorical snap and the door opens.

Saihara Shuuichi enters his bedroom with a towel around his waist. Water drips from his disheveled hair to his shoulders down-- _ holy shit you’re staring.  _ Thankfully, Saihara reacts first with an “Eh?! Ouma-kun?!” His almost shriek allows Ouma to regain his composure.

“Why Saihara-chan,” Ouma sits up at the edge of the bed and leans forward with a devious grin he hopes covers for, or eliminates, his blush, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me!” Yep, that’s it. Play it cocky and flirtatious. If he can keep Saihara flustered he can mask his own. 

Saihara immediately reenters the bathroom, as if to hide, only popping his head out from behind the door.  _ He’s so cute,  _ Ouma thinks, trying desperately to pretend he didn’t see any of that. “Why are you in my room?!”

Yeah, he would want to know that, huh? Ouma almost forgot for a moment, too overwhelmed by his own accidental misstep. Still, he huffs, folding his arms over his chest, as if there’s nothing to be concerned about. “Well Saihara-chan said he’d hang out with me today! It is my birthday, after all!”

He can tell by the way Saihara furrows his brow that he doesn’t believe him, but the real question is what part? He taps a finger to his lips and his eyes widen slightly. “Today is the 21st, isn’t it?” he asks more to himself than Ouma. He then stares at Ouma knowingly. “You know, if you wanted to do something with me for your birthday, you could have made plans with me in advance.” 

_ Ahaha, saw through me huh?  _ Not that Ouma’s going to let it go just yet. “I diiid! You promised you’d hang out with me, remember? You said so yesterday!” He pouts, childishly balling his fists. “Yesterday you were like ‘of course I’ll spend the whole day with you Ouma-kun! It’s your birthday.’ Hmph.”

Saihara just chuckles behind his hand. “That’s a lie,” he says between giggles, and for a moment, Ouma is breathless. “You didn’t approach me at all yesterday.” He sighs, still with an (affectionate?) smile on his face. “If you’re going to just sit here until we go, can you at least be useful and pass me my clothes from the bed?” he asks, gesturing to the neatly folded pile, once again reminding Ouma that _yes_ , Saihara did just get out of the shower. 

Ouma sighs through pursed lips. “So boring!” he shouts, grabbing the outfit as told. “You should wear something pink and gaudy for once!”  _ As if Saihara-chan owns anything like that _ , he thinks, passing the pile to Saihara’s outstretched hand. 

“If I find anything like that while we’re out, I’ll consider buying it for your birthday,” he replies, closing the bathroom door behind him. Ouma bounces on his heels in anticipation.  _ This is going to be so much fun! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to my proofreader who after fixing this up said "Just did some punctionation changes." A legend. 
> 
> Happy Birthday to the little shit. Here's my gift for y'all. We have hit the midpoint! Just three more days to go! I hope you enjoy~


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You can't die. Please don't die."
> 
> Oumasai Week Day Five: Despair

The counter plan is simple. It’s already in motion. Iruma-chan will verify the meeting place, and he’ll act toooootally oblivious. And then, when they meet, Gonta will pop out from his hiding space and take her out.

 The counter plan was simple, even if it was brutal. It was cruel and inhumane and— _no you have to._ He doesn’t have time to entertain preemptive guilt. He needs to focus.

Finally, Iruma-chan says to split up, and Ouma nonchalantly waits for her to speak to him. And waits. And the conversation seems to go on without him. He eyes her warily, wondering if maybe she’s getting cold feet. Nah, can’t be. He shakes his head ever so slightly, turning his gaze back on target.

“…And Shithara’s also at the mansion!” Iruma-chan finishes, assigning every single one of them to their designated searching place. _So Saihara-chan’s on this side, hmm? Convenient._  The assignments are just as he expected, although more thorough. He expected her to just focus on those part of her plan, and fuck the rest. _Did something change…?_ Another glance, but she looks no different than before. _Maybe she just thought it would be more convincing like this._ He’s not going to worry about it. Her plan won’t come to pass.

_Still, just in case…_ “Ooooiii, Iruma-chan!” Ouma calls out just as they leave the chapel. “Can we talk for a sec? I have a diiiirty secret I know you’ll love!” Everyone gives him weird looks, but he pays them no mind.

Iruma-chan blinks, momentarily surprised, and shrugs. “Yeah sure, but it better be good shortstack, ‘cause we both know your size ain’t gonna do it for me!” She blusters, shoving past Shirogane-chan nonchalantly.

Ouma’s voice drops to a whisper once she nears. “Soooo, the meeting place. Is it still the roof? Or did you realize you’re not _quite_ that kinky yet and you’re just putting on a show?” He snickers behind his hand. It’s fine to pretend he’s just teasing. She can’t know he’s on to her.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?!” She shouts, far too loudly, causing Saihara-chan to stop and glance behind him. “I bet you’re only into vanilla you overdramatic edgelord—!!” Ouma cuts her off by gleefully waving to Saihara-chan. She glares behind her. “Move along Saiwhora! We’re almost done here!” Saihara-chan gives another concerned glance, but reluctantly turns around to leave.

“Weeeelllll?” Ouma eggs her on, not at all bothered by that minor interruption. “Is it the roof?”

“Of course it’s the fuckin roof you annoying-ass twink. I’ll see ya there.” And without waiting for his response she waves him off, wandering towards the back of the chapel, and rummages through a box outside.

“Oookaaaayyy~!” Ouma chirps, twirling on his heel back to the mansion. Saihara-chan is still waiting, only a few steps further away than he was before. _Always so nervous,_ he can’t help but chuckle under his breath. He can’t exactly blame him. Iruma-chan _is_ up to something after all. “Saihara-chaaan, how slow are you? You only moved like two inches! Could it be you’re more interested in stalking me?” He leans closer to Saihara-chan once he catches up, peering up with a shit eating grin.

Saihara-chan sighs and starts back to the river without dignifying him with a response. Well, it’ll be fine. He can tease Saihara-chan more later.

* * *

Ouma’s been counting the seconds, and it’s been too long. He’s over a minute past time and Iruma-chan has yet to be seen. He looks around with the telescope. She’s still not there. “Tch.” It comes out louder than he intended. He didn’t intend it at all. _Where_ **_is_ ** _she?_

Gonta pops out from behind the wall, arms folded. “Maybe she really couldn’t get over here after all…”

Ouma turns towards him and sniffs, crocodile tears at the ready. “So she stood me up after all that? But she made a promise! You really think Iruma-chan would break a promise?” He looks up at his tall partner in crime with watery eyes.

Gonta immediately raises his arms in a panic, about to rush from his corner but remembers to stay put. “No! Iruma-san wouldn’t do something like that!”

“Oooohhh…?” Ouma leans forward with a smirk. _You’re so easy to manipulate._ It’s almost sad. “Even though she’s planning to kill me?”

At that Gonta’s shoulders fall. He fiddles with a messy strand of hair and stares at the ground. “Actually…Gonta thinks that’s why she wouldn’t do something like that…” There’s unmistakable pain in his voice, and the guilt Ouma wants to lock in the vault comes creeping back up-- _stop. You have to. The other option is far worse._

He doesn’t have time to focus on Gonta—Iruma-chan is still up to something—so he spins back towards the telescope. _No, nothing’s changed—_ was that Saihara-chan…? Why is he leaving the house? _What could he—_ it clicks.

_No…_

For a minute all he can do is watch as Saihara-chan walks towards the forest. Iruma-chan is not here.

_No._

He has to go. He has to go _right now._

_No!_

Within seconds without a word he races towards the door back down the stairs. He can hear Gonta call his name and clumsily stumble after him but it doesn’t matter. _Did she switch her target? When did she even get the chance—_ It dawns on him as bolts out the door. She must have talked to him when he disappeared into the forest with Gonta. _Idiot! You should not have left her alone! Reckless! Careless!_

The Killing Game Simulator doesn’t leave footprints. Saihara-chan could be anywhere. “Go that way!” he barks behind him, pointing in the opposite direction. Gonta is still behind him. He wishes there was more of them.

_This can’t happen._

How was he so stupid?! To leave her alone was to give her an opportunity to switch! She’s not a complete idiot! She could easily suspect he was up to something and switch to an easier target. No, maybe he was never the target to begin with—it doesn’t matter!

_You can’t die._

This forest is seemingly infinite. There are no signs of life. Not birds, not animals, not Saihara-chan.

_You can’t die!_

It should have been her! It should have been him! It was supposed to be him!

**_You can’t die!!!_ **

Time races for nothing.

_Please..._

He can’t hear anything but his pounding heart.

_Please don’t die…!_

The forest opens to a clearing. In the middle of pristine white snow lies an unmoving avatar.

His quiet pleading wish was not granted.

Saihara Shuuichi is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we sad yet? Me too! Good news is this is the last of the sad ones for this week I promise! Just two more to go!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oumasai Week Day 6: Alternate Universe
> 
> This is a Shinigami/Reaper AU. Ouma is dying. Saihara is Death. Carry on~

This room, as always, is too white. Why must hospitals always be the whitest, most boring places on earth? Ouma sighs, staring at his barely decorated room. That sigh turns into a violent cough, and it takes a second to recuperate. To remember how breathing works. 

Another glance around the room. It’s still too white, the stack of cards and board games in the corner do nothing for the overwhelming monotony of the walls. They didn’t allow him to cover the walls in posters and decorations. His parents, unpresent and uncaring as they are, probably wouldn’t bring them here even if he was allowed to. He had to beg practically for them to even buy them to begin with. 

A yawn--god he’s so tired--and a glance at the clock. It’s the middle of the day, and he has nothing to do. He’s long since lost the privilege of leaving the room.  Bedridden. Joy. He glances at the deck of cards.  _ Guess we’re playing card games with Tatsuhara-chan again!,  _ he thinks, just about to press the call nurse button when he stops. Something feels...off.

He whips his head around behind him to find a boy around his age dressed in all black. The boy freezes, as if caught off guard by the eye contact, and it’s then Ouma notices those unnaturally glowing golden eyes.  _ Nishishi~ with how pale he is, maybe he’s death!  _ ”Sayyyy, have you come to carry me off to the afterlife?” he asks. 

At that the boy practically leaps back three feet, but he doesn’t make a sound when he lands. “Why can you see me?” he asks, staring at Ouma incredulously as he straightens himself out. 

_ Maybe I wasn’t that far off after all,  _ Ouma thinks, with a casual grin on his face. “Y’know I didn’t expect death to look like this,” he says, glancing up and down the mysterious boy. “I kind of thought there’d be a scythe. Also you’d be more like a skeleton, and not a high school-looking kid. Booooriiinggg.”

The strange (shinigami?) boy doesn’t even seem to hear him at first, mumbling to himself and flipping through a notebook. “This wasn’t in the manual at all….How is this my first job?” He continues to talk to himself, staring at page after page before realising he was spoken to and jolting up. “I um--sorry! I think. I’m new, and not used to this at all and--”

“Why do you look like a high schooler?” Ouma asks, more curious why death looks like it should be going to school with him than whatever he’s mumbling about. Does death just match the appearance of who they reap?

“Uum…” The probable shinigami stutters, glancing around the room as if he wasn’t expecting to be asked that.  _ Or any of this,  _ Ouma thinks to himself. “I’m part of the junior division. We’re picked to match the relative ages and backgrounds of those we reap, so since you’re a Japanese high schooler, they sent me…” he trails off, glancing unsurely between Ouma and his notepad. “Am I allowed to tell him that…?”

“So guess that means my time is up, huh?” Ouma asks, sitting up straighter in the hospital bed.  _ Figures.  _ Explains why he’s so tired lately. 

“...Yeah,” The shinigami answers, nervously grabbing at the opposite sleeve with his right. “The way this is supposed to work is that when I touch you, you’ll die, and then I’m supposed to lead you to the afterlife,” he explains, with the confidence of an 11 year old with stage fright having to recite a poem. 

“Well,” Ouma says, tossing the box of cards from one hand to the other. “What if I don’t really want to die?”

“I don’t think--”

“Say, Shinigami-chan, aren’t I allowed to challenge you to a game?” Ouma leans towards the shinigami across the sidetable, slamming the cards down on it. Maybe he’ll have fun today after all. “And if I win, you have to leave me alone til the ripe old age of 105!”

“I--I don’t think that’s how this works....” The shinigami stumbles out, stepping back a little in surprise.

“Well I won’t go with you unless you beat me fair and square in a game!” Ouma huffs, his huffs transforming into another violent cough. It feels like his lungs want to leave through his throat. Why is he so desperate to live again? The shinigami reaches out to touch him. “Ah-uh!” Ouma leans back and wags a finger with an excited smirk. “Play the game with me! You win, I go. I win, you leave me alone, capiche?” 

The shinigami makes a drawn out noise in frustration, muttering to himself, “This isn’t how this was supposed to go…” Finally, he sighs, sitting in the rolling doctor’s chair across the table. “Alright, I’ll play. What game? I might not know the rules, so you’ll have to explain them to me.”

“Let’s play something simple then!” Ouma chirps, sliding the cards out of the deck. He already has a plan for this. The real trick is if he can pull it off without getting caught. “You and I both pick a card! Whoever picks a higher card wins!”

“Is the ace highest?” The shinigami asks, watching as Ouma shuffles the cards. “Or the king?”

_ So death knows about card games.  _ “You sure playing games isn’t in that official rule book of yours?” Ouma asks, sliding the cards together into a pile before halving them again. “Anyway yeah, ace is highest.” The shinigami hasn’t seemed to notice anything. Good. 

As Ouma lays the now shuffled cards on the table, the shinigami asks “Are you sure you want to play a game of luck for your life?” He stares at Ouma, brows furrowed in almost concern.  _ Aww, you can’t actually care, can you? _

“Yep! Totally! It’s more fun that way!” He replies with ease, slapping the now resorted deck of cards on the table. “You can pick first!” He practically bounces in his seat. When did he get this energy again?  _ Well, actually,  _ he snickers more to himself,  _ it’s kind of obvious. _

The shinigami stares at him for a moment longer, skeptical, but hesitantly picks a card. His frown doesn’t change once glancing at his card. “Your turn,” he says, putting his card face down in front of him.

“Awww, did Shinigami-chan draw badly?” Ouma teases, not even paying attention to the card he picks. He’s not worried about it. He already knows what the result will be, but still he snickers gleefully when he glances at his card. “I bet you’ll have a hard time topping this! Ready to reveal?”

The shinigami nods, and Ouma counts down. “Three, two, one, play!” He slaps his card face up on the table; the shinigami simply flips his over. Across his seven of hearts is the seven of spades.  _ Nishishi~  _ “Awww, it’s a tie!”

“....You don’t seem overly disappointed,” the shinigami points out, handing the card back to Ouma. As Ouma shuffles the deck, for real this time, he asks, “So what happens in a tie?”

“Well,” Ouma pauses after shoving the cards in the box. He stares at the ceiling and taps his chin, as if in thought. He already has an answer planned. “Guess that means we’ll have to rematch tomorrow!” After all, it was never about extending his life: it was about finding something fun! And what could be more interesting than an ongoing game with death itself? “Nishishi~”

“Why don’t we just have the rematch now?” The shinigami asks, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He looks half ready to grab the cards from his hands, but doesn’t.

“Cause I’m--” Ouma forces a yawn--”reaaallly sleepy, Shinigami-chan!” For emphasis he lies back down and curls up on his side. “I can’t play games like this! You have to leave; a deal’s a deal! Come back tomorrow!” He closes his eyes. Should he fake snore for emphasis? 

“But--” the shinigami cuts himself off and just sighs, exasperated. “Fine.” He seems to have realised he’s not getting anywhere. “I’ll come back tomorrow. I’ll have to keep track of mortal time, I guess…” he mutters that last part to himself, and vanishes without a trace.

Ouma sits up as soon as he’s gone. For once he looks forward to tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me impulsively starting even more AUs. will I ever be stopped. ANYWAY we're in the home stretch kids! Just one more to go!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I shouldn't be in love with you!" from Saihara's point of view.
> 
> Oumasai Week Day Seven: Post-Game

Saihara rubs his eyes as he opens the door to the shared apartment the killing game survivors have. Honestly, if no one is on it, he might just collapse and pass out on the lumpy couch. The investigation he was working on kept him out far too late, and the case was far too upsetting. He doesn’t have the energy to go back to his room and go through the whole routine of changing and crawling into bed.

But the lights in the main room are on, meaning someone was waiting for him. “Ouma-kun, why are you still awake?” Saihara asks, and it sounds more like a yawn than a question.

Ouma-kun looks up from his tablet and grins, bright enough to wake Saihara up a little. “Yo, Saihara-chan! Busy busy day, huh?” he asks, not really answering Saihara’s question. Maybe that’s an answer in and of itself: he’s up because he wants to be. “Anyway, come here, I wanna show you something!” He pats the spot next to him on the couch eager, practically bouncing in his seat.

“Can’t it wait for tomorrow…?” Saihara asks, but he still wanders over to the couch anyway and practically falls into the seat next to Ouma-kun. “It’s almost 1am,” he says with a glance at the wall clock.

“Nope! It absolutely can’t, sleepyhead!” Ouma-kun pokes Saihara’s forehead with glee. _That means it definitely can wait and you just won’t let it._ “I found the funniest website on Earth, and I need to share it urgently!” he says, thrusting his tablet into Saihara’s lap.

Saihara just sighs with an exasperated, yet fond smile. _I guess I can stay up just a little later,_ he thinks glancing down at whatever Ouma-kun wants to show him. “FanganRonpa.net...?” The logo in the corner is an even uglier edit of the tv series specifically for this site. “Is this....a Dangan Ronpa fansite?”

“Mhm!” Ouma-kun nods rapidly, and starts scrolling through it. “It’s mostly shut down since the show’s been canceled, and you have all these apologies from site runners who suddenly feel suuuuper guilty about romanticising a murder show, but you can still read through the archives,” he says, clicking through several links before scrolling again.

“And how is this...funny…?” Saihara asks, very confused about why a website dedicating to fetishizing the trauma of so many people, including themselves, is humorous.

“It’s not,” Ouma-kun replies easily, clicking on some fanfic as if that doesn’t contradict his statement. “This entire website is a testament to the cruelty of humanity, but if you look at some of the most popular things here, like this one, and see how poorly written and detached from reality they are it loops right back around to being hilarious,” he snickers as he says this. “I mean look at this one! It’s practically just a soap opera with our names attached to it!”

Saihara glances skeptically at Ouma-kun, but nonetheless begins skimming through the fic in front of him. It’s overly verbose, like the author thought using a different synonym for a simple word like “get” each time would automatically make the writing better. It ends up describing Ouma’s eyes as both lilac and violet as if those are remotely the same shade. Or how it seems to constantly stack on itself dramatically without a moment of breathing room, like a weak drug desperately trying to keep you hooked through larger and larger doses. “People...enjoyed this…?” He asks, more to himself.

“Yeah, it’s got like tens of thousands of likes on that thing,” Ouma-kun shrugs off, with an easy grin. “Thousands of people read that and thought it was good. Can you believe it? Oh but just wait! It gets even better!” He leans and starts reading over Saihara’s shoulder. “The funniest part is going to hit. Trust me; you’ll lose it.”

He’s not really seeing the humour in it, but seeing Ouma-kun so enthusiastic about it makes him want to keep reading. Eventually, Ouma-kun gasps, and bounces up and down. “We’re here!” He exclaims quietly.

_“I shouldn’t be in love with you!” Saihara bellows at Ouma, and the room diminishes into noiselessness. Ouma reels in shock, genuine tears cascading from his eyes, but he’s reticent to speak. “You’re--you’re a killer! An evil mastermind! And yet you played with my heart to woo me just for fun! To cause me despair! I shouldn’t be in love with someone like this!”_

“Pfft,” Saihara tries to keep it in at first, his giggle. But as the scene progresses, it blossoms out of him, and soon he’s laughing relentlessly. “I would never say any of this! Neither would you! You aren’t that emotionally transparent, like, ever!” Nothing about the ensuing scene fits the scenario or the people in it. Sure, it was unfitting beforehand, but now it becomes apparent that these people just share their names and none of their personalities. It really is just a soap opera.

Maybe normally he wouldn’t find this funny enough to be snickering helplessly on the couch, thoroughly engrossed. Maybe normally he wouldn’t find this funny at all, instead offended by the glorification of their suffering. But right now, at one in the morning, after a long day of draining work, laughing at someone’s piss poor understanding of how much they’ve suffered is exactly what he needs.

They spend another hour reading through terrible fanfic after terrible fanfic, delirious from laughter and exhaustion. Ouma-kun yawns for the fifth time that minute, and Saihara’s yawning with him. “Hey,” he starts. God his eyelids are so heavy. “Did you stay up this late just for me?”

“Now why would I do that?” Ouma-kun replies, head flopping onto Saihara’s arm as his eyes close. “I was just here all night to read bad fanfics! Come on now! Overestimating your relevance, jeez.”

Saihara’s willing to leave it at that--he’s far too tired to press it, but Ouma-kun continues. “But if I was,” he mumbles into Saihara’s shoulder, half asleep, “then Operation Cheer Saihara-chan up was a success.”

Saihara giggles, with a tired, affectionate smile Ouma-kun can’t see. “But you’d never do that, right? You’re--” a yawn--”an evil supreme leader after all.”

“Yep! So obviously it was just for the fanfics,” Ouma-kun agrees, so quiet he can barely be heard. In seconds, Saihara hears quiet snores. He takes a moment longer to gaze at the shorter boy with lidded eyes, before leaning back against the couch and soundly passing out. The couch has never been more comfortable.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even god can make me follow the rules of expectations. Anyway that's a wrap on the week! I hope you all enjoyed, because I had fun writing all this!
> 
> A note before anyone asks: the bad fanfic passage is one I wrote on the spot, and didn't come from anywhere nor was it inspired by any particular fic. It was just me thinking of bad habits I used to like and enjoy and now hate and roasting myself really ahaha.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Prompt: “Saihara pushes Ouma to confess the feeling is mutual, thinking Ouma won’t run away since it’s raining, but Ouma does run.” It’s gay.

The rain patters against the window of the classroom as Shuuichi goes through his notes. Most of his classmates have long since left, either walking back to their dorms in the rain or to their clubs, but he stays right here, content to study in the peace and quiet of the empty classroom. A scribble, a scratch— _no, that’s wrong—_ he flips the pencil over to erase the marks he made. The door to the classroom creaks open quietly. The person who entered probably thinks they’re being sneaky, but he pays it no mind. He rewords his answer, ignoring the sound of a chair being pulled up to his desk.

As he finishes his sentence he’s greeted with a “Yo, Saihara-chan!” He was expecting this. Shuuichi looks up from his assignment unsurprised to see Ouma-kun taking his seat. Backwards. _How much time is he spending with Amami-kun?_ He squints at the page on Shuuichi’s desk and sticks his tongue out in disgust. “Really, you’re studying again? Booooring.”

“What did you think I was doing?” Shuuichi replies, not looking up from his unfinished question. The pencil scratches softly against the page.

“Something scandalous!” Ouma-kun says, wearing his telltale mischievous grin. He leans back holding on to the back of the chair. “Like maybe some top secret case work. Or oooh!” Suddenly he’s right in Shuuichi’s face “Maybe a diary, hmm? You seem like the diary type~”

That throws Shuuichi off, causing him to back up and inadvertently draw a long line down the page he was writing. _Crap…_ “I don’t keep a diary.” That’s not false. It’s just not true either. He switches to the eraser and carefully cleans up the page. One deep breath to keep the blood from ever so eagerly rushing to his face.

Ouma-kun snorts, sitting back properly. He saw right through Shuuichi. _Of course he did._ “You toootally do. Let me guess; you’re the type who calls it a journal?” There’s nothing condescending about his tone, just something a little smug.

The page crinkles beneath Shuuichi as he entirely drops the pencil, finally looking up from the page. “So what? Does it matter what I call it?” Unable to keep eye contact for long, he turns his warm face back down to the desk. “I mostly just keep personal investigation notes in there.” He ignores the entries entirely concerned about the quiet budding of his crush on the other.

Ouma-kun’s smug grin only grows at this; Shuuichi feels like he just can’t hide anything anymore. Maybe he never could. “Mostly?” He snickers at this and Shuuichi can feel his cheeks get even warmer. “So, in between the case notes you wax poetic about your _unfortunate_ crush on the resident bad boy who secretly likes cats?”

“Hoshi-kun?” Shuuichi asks, eyebrow raised. Although they both know Hoshi-kun’s love for cats is very public.

“Nah, Hoshi-chan’s love for cats isn’t a secret,” Ouma-kun says, his smile switching back into something less knowing. “I was talking about Momota-chan of course,” He laughs, but Shuuichi notices something more reserved in his smile. Something he wouldn’t have noticed months ago. It sticks in his mind, raising a flag he’s yet to understand.

 _Momota-kun hardly qualifies as a bad boy…_ Although perhaps he does have the tendency to start fights… _Maybe Ouma-kun is right._ Still, Shuuichi shakes his head. That ship came and went. “You’re joking, right?” They both know full well Momota-kun is a dog person, especially after that one time a cat snuck on campus.  

Ouma-kun makes a whining noise in frustration. “So rude! I hate lies and jokes!” He folds his arms and turns his head, like a bratty child. “Momota-chan definitely loves cats!”

Shuuichi chuckles and shakes his head, turning back to the page. They both know that’s not true. In the back of his mind an image flits through of purple hair and cat food. He doesn’t say he saw Ouma-kun bring food to the stray cat behind the academy. And it’s _definitely_ not in his journal. He quietly goes back to work, hoping math problems will brush away the pink painting his face. He thinks he sees Ouma-kun’s smile flicker. He files the memory away for later.

Realizing he’s not going to get a response, Ouma-kun pulls out a pen from his pants pocket. “Paper?” He asks, and wordlessly Shuuichi complies, neatly tearing out two or three pieces of composition paper from his notebook on the desk. “Thanks.” After rotating the chair back the proper way, Ouma-kun gets to work doodling some kind of laser gun.

This is something he’s used to as well. When Ouma-kun isn’t barging in with puzzles and games and cards that always end far differently than they started, there are moments like these. Study sessions where only he studies and Ouma-kun fills the page with outlandish idea after another. It’s one of the few moments with Ouma-kun that are quiet, punctuated only by turning pages and the occasional chuckle. The rain tapping the windows is the only sign of the outside world. Sometimes, like now, he’ll take a glance up from his assignment to watch. Wispy purple locks fall in front of the other’s face, occasionally tucked back behind the ear. It’s a rare chance to spot him focused on anything, ideas and determination lighting his eyes. Shuuichi wishes he could capture moments like these with his camera.

Suddenly, purple eyes meet his— _crap—_ and a devilish expression spreads across Ouma-kun’s face. He puts down his pen and holds his face in his hands. “Daydreaming about your secret crush?”

He know Ouma-kun is just trying to tease him, to throw him off, but Shuuichi immediately scrambles, eyes now fixated on his page of math problems. _Not helping my case…_. That familiar heat heads back up to his face. “Do you want me to be?” he asks. It’s only after he’s asked he realizes the question itself is revealing.

Ouma-kun’s smile drops into a straight line. Blank. His face is totally blank, unreadable, and for a moment Shuuichi wonders if he’s messed up. _Does—does he?_ His heart beats loudly. Badum. Badum. Badum. Three seconds of dead silence take years. Then Ouma-kun shrugs with an easy grin Ouma-kun, picking his pen back up. “Maybe. Depends on who it is.” It depends? “If it’s bromance dreams of Momota-chan…” he yawns letting it finish the sentence for him.

Momota-kun again. “Do I really look like I have a crush on him?” Actually, why does his crush keep coming back up today? Sure, Ouma-kun is a notorious tease, but he’s not usually so fixated on one joke. It’s strange.

“Oh? You don't? Then why do you float around him like a lost puppy?” Ouma-kun grins. On the page in front of him Shuuichi can see he’s started doodling a dog now. It’s messy, and cartoonish, almost as if it only exists to punctuate the line.

“I do not!” Shuuichi retorts, instinctively racking through his memories just to double check. Where would Ouma-kun get that idea? Does he really still look like that? Does Momota-kun think that? “Momota-kun and I are just friends,” he grumbles, pushing aside his frantic worries.

 As the last of his anxiety settles, he finally notices Ouma-kun, leaning against his chair, head back against the desk behind him. He smiles, but it lacks the energy and chaos of his usual grin. It’s small. Relieved. “That’s good.” It’s a glimpse beyond the façade, something he’s not supposed to see. His heart flutters.

The image adds itself to the growing pile in the back of his mind. By now the stack is a little too large to ignore. There’s a puzzle he almost has solved. Something is definitely off. Time moves in slow motion as he sees Ouma-kun sit up, telltale grin back in place. Now’s his only chance to ask. Ouma-kun’s already opened his mouth when Shuuichi asks, “Why do you want to know?”

Ouma-kun tilts his head, pointing a finger to his cheek. He’s playing dumb. That means he’s thrown off guard. “Know about what? Your secret crush?” Shuuichi nods. “Becauuuseee,” Ouma-kun says, twirling his pen in his hand absently, “You’re my favourite, y’know?” He glances into Shuuichi’s eyes; Shuuichi’s heart skips. “If you go off in the sunset with Momota-chan, I’d be so bored. Plus then you wouldn’t join my organization.”

He doesn’t really register the rest of what Ouma-kun said in any meaningful manner; his thoughts are stuck elsewhere. _“You’re my favourite, y’know?”_

Rewind.

Play.

_“You’re my favourite, y’know?”_

Rewind.

Play.

 _“You’re my favourite,”_ echoes and reverberates through every nook and cranny in his thoughts. He tries to catch it, to pin it down and focus, but it skirts out of his grasp, dancing through his brain. He doesn’t even realize it’s painting his face red. Ouma-kun watches as Shuuichi makes a small noise, frustrated with himself. There’s teasing yet something else (fond? _No, don’t assume)_ look in his eyes. That wakes him up. “Are you just messing around again?”

“Aww…” Ouma-kun pouts, slumping his shoulders like a child denied their favourite toy. Sometimes Shuuichi wonders what he was actually like as a kid. “Saihara-chan really thinks so little of me huh? That’s disappointing.” A fake tear builds in his eye but he shakes it off. “But you should know by now Saihara-chan,” Shuuichi doesn’t have the chance to think before Ouma-kun’s face is right before his. They’re so close. He doesn’t breathe, as if air will blow Ouma-kun into dust. Rain taps on the windows as Ouma-kun stalls, smile wide and knowing and maybe even flirtatious. In a low voice, “I hate lies and jokes.”

Shuuichi gasps, eyes widening in understanding. All the puzzle pieces he’s found scattered throughout today, maybe even from days and weeks and months ago, click together in place. And despite his racing thoughts, despite his pounding heart, despite his disbelief and amazement mixing together into a chaotic stew in the pit of his stomach, he opens his mouth to ask: “Do you…have a crush…on me…?” It’s surprising how steady his words are, with his heart caught right in his throat.

There’s no reaction at first. Ouma-kun doesn’t even move, paralyzed by the question. _Crap!_ Why did he ask that? _Who asks that?!_ This is so reckless and presumptive and he’s definitely going to push Ouma-kun away like this. It was just a joke! Why did he say that?! Maybe he even gave himself away in the process, crap, crap, _crap!_

“Ahaha,” Ouma-kun laughs under his breath, leaning back into his seat. It’s so quiet Shuuichi wonders if he really heard anything at all. “I went too far this time, didn’t I?” There isn’t a chance to ponder that sentence, to analyze the small smile splayed across his face, because he immediately pushes the chair out. Folding his arms behind his head, he says “Well this certainly has been interesting, but I’ve got an evil organization to run.”

“Wait, Ouma-kun—”

“See ya, Saihara-chan!” and Ouma-kun bolts out the door.

In seconds, Shuuichi is running too, books and bag left behind in an empty classroom. _Why is he running?_ His body is on autopilot, trailing after purple hair and white clothes, his legs moving almost as fast as his thoughts. _Why am I running?_

A hard left. They’re heading towards the entrance, but even the prospect of getting drenched doesn’t bother him. _What am I even going to do?_ He slams into the slowly closing entrance door, throwing it back open and continuing to run. _How can I fix this?_

Ouma-kun makes a sharp right, following the path to the campus park. The cold rain pelts his suit dripping through the layers against his skin, but he keeps on moving. _What doesn’t he want to hear?_ His arm is outstretched, just inches away from grabbing that drenched white sleeve. Just a little more and…. _What do I want to say?_

Got it. It squelches softly in his grip. Ouma-kun tugs, determined to keep running, but Shuuichi quickly grasps his wrist. A couple more futile pulls before Ouma-kun stops. “I—” Shuuichi starts, but words fail him. Ouma-kun doesn’t turn around, merely balling his fists. The rain is so much loud, drowning out the way his heart pounds. “I’m sorry. For asking. Even if that’s something I wanted to know, it’s not fair for me to just put you on the spot like that.”

Ouma-kun stands, unmoving. His dark hair looks black in the rain, somewhat tapering the usual mess of purple. “Well, you’ve figured it out now, right?” His voice is low, as if drowned out by the downpour. He spins around, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Or at least that’s what you think, right, Mr. Detective? But I was just messing with you! Yeesh, I didn’t expect you to come chasing me in the rain.” He laughs, plastic and empty. “You certainly keep things interesting, Saihara-chan!”

 _You’re still lying to me._ Of course he’s lying. Shuuichi probably would too if he felt cornered like that. His pulse speeds up and up in his ears. “I should probably head to my dorm!” Ouma-kun chirps, continuing his show. “You should head back and get your bag! Nishishi~ you left it behind like a dunce to get me.” He yanks his wrist free from Shuuichi’s grasp.

Ouma-kun is probably right. They don’t need to finish this right now. It’s pouring. Shuuichi’s dark hair sticks to his skin like his suit. It’s so so cold, they’re both unconsciously shivering. He can just ask him about this tomorrow, right? A drop of water trails down his spine. They don’t really need to do this right now, right? Ouma-kun turns away, heading back towards the dorms.

 _No._ The truth sinks in just like that. This is his last chance to do anything without Ouma-kun running away from it all. He can say it. It’s really easy, right? It’s just three words, right? And he already knows the answer, so, it should be fine. “Wait!”

To his surprise, Ouma-kun turns around. “Hmmm?” A curious look. An apprehensive look. _But he’s still here._

Breathe in. _Okay._ Breathe out. _You can do this._ Breathe in. God his breath is so shaky, his stomach twists and turns, he can’t do this, he can’t do this, he can’t do this— _Spit it out!_ “I like you.” The rain pounds the stone pathway, drowning out all other sound. From a few feet away, Ouma-kun stares at him, mouth hanging open. The silence compels him to keep talking so he continues. “The secret crush is you. When I thought you might like me back I just asked the question without thinking to see if maybe it could work out. I’m not sure why you thought I liked Momota-kun, but I—”

He’s mid-sentence when he feels cold, wet hands grab his face, pulling his head forward. “Saihara-chan.” Bright purple eyes stare directly into his own, accompanied by a blank—no serious expression. When did Ouma-kun walk back up to him? Nobody says anything for a moment, as Ouma-kun analyzes him. “…You’re not lying to me.”

Shuuichi can’t help but laugh, his anxiety floating away with it. “I thought lying was more your thing.” Who would have thought he’d confess like this?

Ouma-kun contemplates that for a second, before grinning, big and genuine. His eyes light up and shine through the darkness. “Nishishi~ You’re right!” Shuuichi wants to kiss him. Maybe that’s too soon. He hasn’t even asked yet.

“So, do you want to…?” Shuuichi trails off, looking over towards a tree. Despite how far he’s gotten, he still can’t ask the question.

“Is Saihara-chan asking me out?” Ouma asks, cocking his head to the side with a sly smile. Shuuichi can only nod, blush burning beneath his cheeks. Ouma-kun leans closer, tiptoeing ever so slightly. His eyes close, Shuuichi’s breath catches, _is he gonna—_ and with the rain still falling from the sky, their lips connect. It’s cold, and wet, with dripping hair brushing against his cheeks, but soft, and tender, and his heart is dancing in his chest. A precious few seconds that lasts forever before it breaks.

When Shuuichi opens his eyes again he finds Ouma-kun, cheeks dusted pink. The picture is perfect, beautiful, destroyed only by Ouma-kun sneezing a few seconds later. “Maybe we should head inside, so you can sign all the papers to date me,” he snickers, grabbing Shuuichi’s hand in his own. “I do run an evil organization after all! It can’t be as simple as a movie cliché!”

Shuuichi giggles, bringing his free hand up to his face. The rain doesn’t bother him anymore. “Okay!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All you need to know about this is while I was writing it I initially had one of Ouma's lines of dialogue ending in yokatta because I forgot how to express that sentiment in english and I heard it in his voice because I've listened to that video compiling all his voiced lines too many times. What this says about me is probably not good lmao.
> 
> Anyway I hope you enjoyed it! If you thought or felt anything at all, please do comment. It means a lot to me. I'm honestly really proud of this one. I think I've improved a lot as a writer.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I don't love you"
> 
> Try not to give up on this one preemptively please I promise it's worth it.

Kokichi paces the roof, the all-too-bright and cheerful sun streaming across the tan roof. It runs contrast to the dour grimace on his face and the relentless thrumming of his nerves. This was a huge mistake. Why did he let it go this far? Why did he decide today was the day he reveals himself? Just because it’s White Day? Is he an idiot?  _ I think I’m a moron. I think all of my brain cells jumped into the ditch Haruto-chan dug behind headquarters and buried themselves there. _

An image of a folded up letter and a heart shaped box flits through his mind for the 17 th time that minute. The same impulse runs all throughout his body, bouncing between the walls of his skull. His fingers twitch. Is it still early enough to steal it back? Saihara-chan tends to spend at least an hour after class just going over his notes and completing his easiest HW assignment, right? He should still have time; he wrote the meeting time to accommodate for that.

He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s ten to four.  _ Fuck.  _ Even if he ran all the way to Saihara-chan’s locker he would have just enough time to take it out before Saihara-chan would be there asking what he was doing. No-go.

So then what? Does he lie? Does he say the note and the chocolate were just a joke? That this was a prank gone far too long? Oh yeah that’ll go over well. ‘Hey Saihara-chan, yeah about the secret admirer letters, it was all just a big prank! The chocolate too! Nishishi~’ That’ll just get him slapped. Another no-go.

Then what can he do? Can he run? He could probably make it all the way out the door to the front entrance in the next five minutes. He probably wouldn’t get caught, and more importantly, he won’t be here for this!  _ Yeah, except if you’re not here it’s the same result as the last one.  _ Another cruel prank. Someone playing ding-dong-ditch with Saihara-chan’s heart. “Damn it!”

The clock ticks; he’s so hyper-aware of it, it’s loud in his ear. But it’s not as loud as his regrets. He didn’t have to do this! He didn’t have to make chocolate at all! And it took so long to do it too. Dai-chan had to supervise him because he’s not allowed in the kitchen, and it took three different attempts to make something that was passable. It probably still sucks. All this work, just to inevitably get rejected! Great!

Ding. Dong. Ding. Dong. The clocktower resounds throughout the grounds.

__ To my beloved detective,  
__ Come to the roof at 4:00. I’ll be waiting.  
_ -Your soon to be known admirer  
_ __ P.S: enjoy the gift. It’s homemade~

The final bell chimes, and with it the door to the roof opens.  _ FUCK!  _ “Ouma…kun?” The soft voice of Saihara-chan rings out questioningly. Kokichi stops pacing and looks into the doorway to see him standing there, still holding the door open, mouth slightly ajar.  _ You’re so surprised to see me!  _ Of course he is. Who would expect to see Ouma Kokichi? Who would hope for Ouma Kokichi as their secret admirer? “Are you…?”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!” Kokichi cheers, throwing his fist up in the air in victory. He’s not feeling particularly victorious. The grin smashed on his face shouts otherwise. “Hope you didn’t try the chocolate before you got here! I wanted to see you try it.” That part is actually true. If he’s going to go out, he might as well go with a bang. Maybe he’ll stick around to see Saihara-chan scrunch his face up in disgust.  _ Ha, as if he’d get that far.  _ He’d probably just throw it out without trying!

The sound of the door gently closing prompts Kokichi to actually focus on the boy he invited to meet him. Saihara-chan doesn’t say anything for a while, slowly walking across the rooftop to meet him. He looks off to the side, clutching his arm, as if he’s still trying to put together how to phrase his next works delicately.  _ At least he wants to be nice about it.  _ He’ll probably try to still be friends, and Kokichi will say okay like a dumbass even if it’ll hurt more. Finally, he manages to ask, with pink staining his cheeks, “Do you…really like me…?”

The plastic smile drops, leaving behind a thin line. “What do you think, Saihara-chan?” he asks, words soft. Despite writing poetry on notes for months and months, saying it out loud just can’t happen. Or maybe he’s just trying to distance himself ahead of time.

“I…had no idea,” Saihara-chan replies, finally looking him in the eye. The sunlight makes the gold of his eyes pop more. He’d take in their beauty more closely if he wasn’t waiting for the inevitable implosion of the world. It’s coming. It’ll be over soon. He’ll say the words Kokichi dreads to hear and he’ll go home and definitely won’t cry in a pillow. Saihara-chan opens his mouth. Here it comes. The inevitable ‘Sorry, but…I don’t love you.’

Who  _ would _ love him?

“Ilikeyouback!”  _ Huh?  _ The sentence hangs in the air despite being blurted out so fast.  _ What?  _ How? Is this a joke? A prank? Revenge for all the shit he’s pulled over the years? Maybe! He might even deserve it after knocking down the bookshelves in the library. His heart is racing; he’s almost dizzy. Is he dreaming? Did he mishear something? There’s no way there’s no way there’s no way!

Saihara-chan’s face is now the color of the heart shaped box in his hand. Wait, that’s not the box he gave him. Is that…? “I actually…I was going to give this to you earlier, but then I kinda chickened out, and I thought I’d just save it this but…” He laughs, awkwardly, running his free hand through his hair, “it ended up in the same place. I’m pretty lucky, aren’t I?” That small and nervous smile is the world.

“You…like me…?” The words sound cracked and disbelieving to his hears. Like he could barely force them out of his mouth. He’s sure his façade has entirely shattered, leaving the shock plain as day on his face.  _ Can it…really?  _ He reaches for the red box but stops just short of taking it. Saihara-chan nods, audibly gulping.  _ What are you apprehensive for? I already confessed!  _ Kokichi takes the box gingerly. For a moment, all he can do is stare at it, fidgeting with it in his hands. And then he smiles, big and genuine and bright. “Good! Cause it’d be super boring if I spent a whole year writing you notes and nothing came of it.”

Saihara-chan returns his smile, brilliant and beautiful and warm. Those gold eyes are filled with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "but why Skylar?! Why can't you play a single prompt straight?!"  
> "To measure my abilities."
> 
> Anyway that's it for that one! I hope you enjoyed ahahaha.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Let me help you"

They’ve been spending the past hour or so rearranging the case files in the archive into something less…chaotic. Shuuichi finds that despite Hope’s Peak’s extensive collection of criminal case files and other confidential affairs, they don’t really bother to keep it organized. It just sits here, collecting dust, with piles of books and documents left behind by the three other people who visit it. He sighs, squeezing the last case file in this crate on the old wood shelf. It barely fits, but that’s enough for him.

As soon as it’s in, the door to the archive opens with a loud bang. “Thanks,” Shuuichi greets, turning around to face Ouma-kun carrying a box through the door. It seems a bit too heavy for him, because he walks slightly funny, physically straining his arms. They had moved some of the boxes out to the library to better access the shelves, but the trouble is bringing them back in. _Maybe I should have gotten the box…_ Not that he’s much stronger. “You can just leave that—” but he doesn’t get to finish the sentence before Ouma-kun tumbles to the floor, box and all.

The papers scatter everywhere, some miraculously remaining in their folders, others flying far beyond them. In the midst of them, half on top of the box, half on the floor, Ouma-kun lies. He groans, “oww…” reaching a hand to his head rubbing it. It’s about 30 seconds too long for a person to just lay on the floor moaning. _Is he…okay?_ And just as he wonders that, Ouma-kun sits up. “You’re getting the next one…”

“Yeah of course, but for now, let me help you clean this up.” Shuuichi replies. He squats on the floor next to Ouma-kun and begins rifling through the stray papers to figure out which folder each belongs to. “You don’t need to see a nurse, right?” He asks, glancing up at the other. He doesn’t look too injured, despite the dramatics earlier.

Not that the dramatics are over, because Ouma-kun frowns and whines some more. “My head hurts a lot you know!” For emphasis he holds his head in his hands, grumbling to himself. “Saihara-chan is so cruel…he doesn’t even check to see if I’m hurt…” He sniffs, waterworks at the ready, looking up at Shuuichi with wobbly watery eyes.

He doubts it’s that bad. Shuuichi doesn’t see a cut, and he didn’t fall with a loud bang, more like a dull thud. He’s definitely just playing it up to get out of work. But, still—“Fine, fine,”—he inches closer to Ouma-kun, brushing aside his hand and his hair to get a better look. Soft, wispy purple hair rests against his hand as he trails his fingers across the alleged injury. There’s nothing. Of course there’s nothing. “You’re not even bruised. Are you happy?”

Shuuichi pulls back, taking his hand away, meeting Ouma-kun’s eyes once again. His expression is…strange. _He doesn’t even look like he’s paying attention,_ his purple eyes—were they always so vibrant—staring at nothing, lost in thought elsewhere. But even more strangely was this: instead of that normal, shit-eating grin there’s a peaceful smile, barely noticeable, but still present. And then it’s gone in a flash, “Nishishi~ you make this so easy,” he says, jumping up to his feet and running back to the door. “I’m gonna grab a snack! See ya!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyway so when brainstorming this prompt this is what happened:  
> ouma: drops overly large box of crap on the floor  
> saihara: you clumsy little asshole. let me help you with that  
> ouma: nishishi it was all a PLOY for your ATTENTION  
> saihara: WE'RE ALREADY HANGING OUT  
> ouma: yeah but now you're picking shit up off the floor haha gotcha i'm not helping fuck you
> 
> i'm a serious writer i promise.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You're a terrible cook"

Saihara-chan’s dorm is still; the only sounds are the buzz of the anime Kokichi put on for them. Occasionally, Saihara-chan stirs, shifting around in his seat, his elbow brushing against Kokichi’s side or arm. He’s not really watching the show, just watching Saihara-chan’s eyes glued to the screen, the flurry of bright colors from the show shining in his eyes. He doesn’t remember why this is the show he picked, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s content like this, in his pseudo-anime-night date.

The quiet is punctuated by a long and loud growl. Saihara-chan blinks, jolted back into reality, before saying “Ahah…we got so caught up in this we skipped dinner.” _You were the only one watching._ He smiles, awkwardly, clicking pause on the laptop. Then he frowns slightly. “I don’t think the dining hall is open any longer.”

“So…does that mean I have to cook?” Kokichi nudges Saihara-chan, feeling a grin grow across his face. “I’ve always wanted to make you a three course meal! I’m a five star chef, y’know?” He jumps off the couch, sparkles in his eyes. It’s a lie, of course, but cooking with Saihara-chan sounds like a blast. Anything to keep this going.

“I think we’ll be better off if you _don’t,_ ” Saihara-chan says, slowly shutting the lid of the laptop and placing it on the couch. His lips are pulled into a teasing smile. “You’re a terrible cook. Momota-kun told me about the time you almost burned down the kitchen downstairs.”

Kokichi huffs, stomping on the floor and taking a seat back on the couch. He has to keep the grin off his face. _It’s fun being a drama queen._ “Momota-chan’s a liar. He’s the one who put in that much salad oil.” Although, he did egg him on. But that’s not important.

Saihara-chan gives him a knowing look, that smirk still on his face. “Was it a dare or did you just mock him into it?”

“How rude!” Crocodile tears build in his eyes as he turns his head away. “You think so lowly of me…after all this time…” On go the waterworks. Saihara-chan just gives him a look. Like turning off a faucet, the fake crying stops, and he grins. “Of course I just poked at him; it’s too easy! The minute you tell him he’s not doing it right he just starts overcompensating.”

Saihara-chan snickers, despite trying to keep it back behind his covered mouth. Kokichi’s grin only widens at that. _It’s a shame you’re blocking your face._ Oh well. There’s next time. “You really should stop messing with him so much. It’ll get you both into so much trouble one day.”

“And where’s the fun in that? Yeesh it’s like you want me to die of boredom.” Kokichi searches around the room, but there’s no food here. It’s likely things are ending here. _Damn._ “So if I’m not cooking, then what? Ooooh!” Balling his fists, he leans right up into Saihara-chan’s personal space with an excited smile. “Are you going to cook for me?” Running through his mind is an image of Saihara-chan behind the oven, tending to a pan of something that smells as good as it tastes.

It doesn’t seem likely, with Saihara-chan getting up and heading towards the door. _You got ahead of yourself._ It’s late. It seems like he’s being sent home. The not-date night is over. He doesn’t really want to leave. “I kind-of thought we’d grab something to go, and come back and finish the show.” He slips his shoes on at the doorway. “Are you coming?”

Ah. So he gets to stay after all. _Or rather we both get to go!_ “So long as you’re paying!” He calls, jumping off the couch and slipping his shoes on. The door closes behind them. Maybe one day he can call these dates, but for now he’ll just pretend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not one of my favourites _but hey!_


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Will you marry me?"

The shelves near the front of the convenience store were once neatly lined with sugary sweet candies, like Kit-Kats and gummies, but the organized rows have been disturbed by a white hoodie-clad Ouma-kun, kneeling on the floor rummaging around through each individual box and shelf searching exclusively for the grape version of every single sweet in the store, spilling the occasional bag and bar to the floor. Shuuichi feels bad for the store clerk. A glance to the counter, but the staff seems not to have noticed them. “Do you really need that much candy for a movie?” he asks, looking at the growing stack in his boyfriend’s arms.

“Aaaaabsolutely! I’m a bottomless hole that can only be sated by grape sweets!” Ouma-kun replies, scanning the disrupted shelves once more. _How much of a mess will you make?_ He finds what he’s looking for on the floor, swiping a small bag Shuuichi can’t catch the name of off the floor as he stands up. “Hey, hey Saihara-chan,” he says, presenting the unknown candy to him. It’s a grape Diamond Ring candy. “Will you marry me?” he can barely keep his amusement in, coming out as a loud snort mixed with laughter.

He knows it’s a joke. Ouma-kun’s inability to contain his reaction confirms that, and yet he can still feel the temperature rise in cheeks. They’ve been dating for only 4 months, so there’s no way Ouma-kun’s even thinking about it, but now _he_ is. Is that possible? Would they even last that long? Would they even get to see the day they’re allowed to do that? He doesn’t know, but he still says, “Maybe one day.”

Clunk. The small grape diamond candy bag drops to the floor as Ouma-kun stares at him with his jaw hanging open slightly. There’s a bright shade of red clearly painted across his face, and surprise sprinkled in his wide purple eyes. Shuuichi can’t help himself from grinning at that. That reaction is absolutely priceless. _Worth it,_ he thinks, watching Ouma-kun scurry to the counter, muttering something about not being able to afford paying for their “engagement ring.” He’s so cute running from his embarrassment; Shuuichi finds himself laughing.

He doesn’t know if they’ll get that far. Maybe it’s not possible. Maybe things will fall apart in a year, or a month, or even an hour. But the little things like this make him want to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also diamond ring candy is a real thing in Japan its not me like avoiding ring pop. its just japanese ring pop.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr, where all of these came from with worse grammar, is [96percentdone](http://www.96percentdone.tumblr.com/).


End file.
